#i spent too long on this at 2am on a friday morning when i have a lot of homework and classes later | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meetmymouth · 4 years

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out in the heartland : harry styles

summary: it’s harry’s birthday and you have a very special gift for him word count: 6k warnings: daddy kink, pegging, anal fingering & rimming

“Love, can you get us more crisps,” Harry calls from where he’s seated on the floor, a Playstation console in hand.

It’s another lockdown Monday where they turn Mitch and Sarah’s spacious living room into a gaming room slash studio– according to Mitch, bowls of crisps, cheese platters, wine glasses and other snacks decorating every surface as they play anything and everything from FIFA to Fortnite until their brains are too foggy and they can’t move their fingers properly due to alcohol in their systems.

Sarah and Mitch were kind enough to let them both quarantine at theirs for a while, and it’d been so much fun, spending time with Mitch and Sarah, cooking together, watching films and going on walks, and overall having a great time with their friends. As much as it was just another Monday in lockdown, it was a special one with today being Harry’s 27th. They’ve already cut his cake, one she’d made herself -and Sarah helping with the piping– decorated with maraschino cherries and sprinkles, and they’ve been spending the night drinking posh wine and screaming at each other while Harry and Mitch played FIFA.

With two bowls filled with more crisps, she makes her way back to the living room with a smile on her face as Mitch and Harry keep going on and on about the game, and Sarah teasing them both, asking whether they’d get a divorce soon since they’ve been arguing back and forth like an old, married couple.

They pause the game as Mitch says her name, “did you see the card Jeff sent Harry for his birthday?” He’s smirking as he takes another sip of his wine, and Harry throws a piece of cheese at him, earning a glare from the long-haired man.

“Not yet, what is it?”

“Jeff being a dickhead as per. He sent me a card, it’s between my book, there,” he gestures at his book on the sofa with his head.

She grabs the thick book, turns the pages until she finds the card with ease, and she feels her heart drop for some reason, eyebrows furrowing and palms starting to sweat as she turns to Harry. He’s watching her with a grin on his face, the others already laughing at what’s in front of the card as she takes it in her hands to inspect the shiny birthday card.

“’Happy pegging birthday’” she reads out loud with a monotonous voice. “Uh… okay. That’s– very funny.”

“He’s just being stupid,” Harry laughs, running a finger thorugh his hair. He sits up, mouth full of crisps, and extends his hand for her to hold. “Come here, let me feed you cheese.”

“Okay… uh, nice card.”

“I mean, I love you, Sarah, but–” Mitch starts, mouth full, and Sarah cuts him off with a glare.

“Do not finish that sentence,” she points the wine glass at him as the sounds of cackling follow behind.

They all laugh… except her.

It’s funny. It is. And she loves them, loves laughing with them. But now, with the card Harry labelled as ‘stupid’ in hand and a fancy, pink box with Harry’s name on it waiting for them, waiting for him upstairs, on the bed they’d been sharing since the beginning of lockdown, she can’t help but feel stupid, too.

Was that a bold move? Was she being too brave, or… stupid? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but let a pang of shame and sadness engulf her for a moment, before Harry’s silky voice pulls her away from her thoughts. She accepts the hand extended and sits next to him on the floor, card now forgotten on the sofa, and she tries to occupy both her mind and hands with Sarah’s fluffy cat, giving his little head tiny pets as Harry rubs her back as if it would get rid of the tension she was feeling.

“You okay,” he brings his mouth close to her gear and whispers, then presses the gentlest, softest kiss on her ear. “D’you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, H.”

It’s not until 2AM that everyone decides to go up to their rooms, not even batting an eye at the mess they made as they make their way upstairs with promises to clean everything in the morning. Now that she knows the box is there, on the bed where Harry can easily detect as soon as they open the door, her stomach begins growling but not because she’s hungry, but because she’s feeling anxious, and ashamed.

She has to do something.

“Hey, um…” she begins, stopping them both in front of the guest room they’d been occupying. “Could you– could you bring me water, I forgot to take my meds today.”

“Baby…” Harry says, hand going up to her cheeks to stroke there for a moment. “I thought you had an alarm… I filled your water bottle this morning and put it on the bedside table, come on.”

“No– Harry…”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am, I just want fresh water.”

“Are you– are you serious?”

“Yes,” it comes out as a question rather than an answer and she bites her bottom lip, feeling uneasy under Harry’s curious gaze.

“You’re being kinda weird.”

“I’m not being weird!”

“Is there something you’re hiding from me?” He says with eyebrows furrowed and hand on his hip. “In the bedroom, in particular?”

“Don’t be silly.”

And as soon as he turns away, she knows she’s done for. It’s too late. She’s fucked. Everything’s fucked, she thinks, and he will hate her. Will never want to see her face again and probably ask her to leave as soon as possible since he won’t be able to look at her ever again without being reminded of her disgusting “gift”.

He goes in, of course he does, and she can’t help but close her eyes for a few moments before she joins him, hands sweaty and heart beating like there’s no tomorrow. She finds him near the bed, eyes focused on the box sitting in the middle of the bed, and she looks up when he does, finding him giving her a bright, heart-clenching smile as the dimple gets wider.

“Well, what’s this then, bab?”

His socked-feet makes a comforting noise on the carpeted floor, and he stops when he reaches where she’s standing, hands immediately finding her hips to bring them closer.

“Harry, please don’t open it,” it’s pathetic, she thinks, how desperate and anxious she sounds. Though, she can’t help but close her eyes when Harry’s hand finds the back of her neck as he strokes there with his thumb. “Don’t open it. It’s just silly. It’s a joke.”

“Baby, breathe. What are you even talking about, hm? Why are you– oh my god, darling, you look like you’re having a panic attack. You’re sweating, are you…” he squeezes her flesh gently, then guides her to the bed. “Hey, look at me– look. I’m not going to open it unless you want me to. Do you really not know me? I would never do anything you don’t want me to. Who do you take me for, hm?” It’s so gentle, his voice, it’s like honey is dripping down his mouth and she can’t help but watch the way his pink lips move. “Baby. Look at me. I love you. You’re so special to me, you’re my whole world. I won’t open it– I won’t, I promise. C’mere, babs.”

“I love you too,” she sniffs once, twice, then rubs her eyes.

“Wanna go to sleep... hm? Come on, bab, let’s go to sleep.”

Nights chase each other away, Tuesday kisses Wednesday and Thursday is spent with laughter and too much smoke and Friday finally arrives and it’s like a breath of fresh air, but she also thinks it’s due to the open windows and fresh flowers in the spacious kitchen. The box, containing the cursed gift of hers is forgotten, placed under their bed besides their suitcases, and everything feels normal. Almost too normal. So, she does what most people would do: look for ‘trouble’.

When Harry’s in the shower, she gets the box out and sits on the bed as she thinks about what to do with it. But, apparently, the stillness of the room was too good to be true as Harry emerges from the ensuite, hair still dripping-wet as he adjusts the robe, eyes immediately finding what she’s got in front of her, and the box that is now open, and a black leather piece hanging from the not-so-tall box.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he’s testing the waters, she knows. His eyebrows are furrowed, only slightly, and mouth slightly parted. “What are you doing, darling?”

It’s not a threat, nor asked with the intention of intimidating her. Alas, she feels threatened.

“I…”

“What is it?”

She sighs, feeling the cold sweat dripping down her back, and finally gives up. “See for yourself,” the box is thrust into his hands, and she leaves the room, leaving behind a confused, semi-naked man and a very expensive looking strap-on.

It’s not another fifteen minutes until Harry comes downstairs dressed in only a pair of joggers, and finds her on the sofa as she chews on her thumb –a bad habit really– while reading one of Harry’s books. He walks up to her with a tiny smile on his face, and curls into her side, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he breathes in the sweet smell and the now all too familiar fabric softener.

He waits for her to speak first, not wanting to upset her further, but all she does is sit there, and pretend to read until Harry lets out a sigh, and presses a brief, gentle kiss to her jaw.

“Can we talk?” He says, hands now resting on her thigh as his thumb strokes the skin there.

She sighs too, and fidgets under his gaze. “Not really.”

“Why not, though? We’ve been together for years. Why are you so scared of me, hm? Have I ever done something to make you feel like you can’t be honest with me?”

“No, it’s just embarrassing to me, Harry. And… seeing that card. And you calling it… stupid. I just feel like an idiot, please stop.”

Harry sighs, his breath hitting the side of her face. “Look at me. Look–” he reaches and touches her jaw. “I love you. I’m madly in love with you. The kind that keeps me up at night. The kind that makes my heart hurt in the best possible way. I’m so gone, baby, so fucking gone for you. You got me. I can’t leave, now, I’d never want to,” he presses his forehead to the side of her jaw, the damp skin feeling cold against her flesh. “Jeff on the other hand… can we not talk about him when I have these– these images in my head. Of you. Wearing that.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to feel bad but too bad, I feel like shite and am so fucking embarassed, you don’t get it.”

“I do, I fucking do and I’m trying to tell you how much I’d love it if you fucked me in the ass. Now, you either come upstairs and finish what you started, or–”

They’re both startled when Mitch enters the living room and drops the book in his hand.

He looks up at them, clearly not phased, and they both notice the AirPods in his ears as he kneels down and grabs his book, giving them one last look before disappearing outside to join Sarah in the garden. Harry though, he lets out a chuckle and turns to her, dimple tugging at his cheek, and extends his arm to caress her cheek.

“Come upstairs, baby.”

He says it easily, words rolling off his tongue, just like that, and she does. Of course she does because what else was she to do? She lets him take her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as he guides them up the stairs. Once inside the room, the door is closed, locked, and Harry takes the time to walk towards the window to close the curtain, and she can’t help but stare at his long, beautiful fingers over the soft cotton. Other than the thick, silver band on his middle finger, his fingers are ring-free, and despite adoring his soft, pretty fingers with his equally pretty rings, there’s just something so soft, cosy and familiar about Harry without rings.

He catches her staring because, of course he does. He sees her. Every movement of her eyes, trembling lips, shaky fingers, scrunch of her nose; he sees it all. And now, he walks towards her, a big grin tugging at his lips as he stops right in front of her, both of them aware of the box sitting on the bed but neither of them say anything as they hold each other’s gaze.

And just like that, she feels like she can finally breathe properly when she’s being pulled into his chest, hands finding their place on each side of her head as he starts peppering kisses to her face, first her forehead, then nose, and at last, his plump lips find their way to the place they know by heart, her lips.

It’s not rushed, not at all, Harry thinks they have all the time in the world so he takes his time with her. He knows it’s impossible, foolish even, but he swears he can see the marks his tiny but lustful kisses are leaving behind when he briefly opens his eyes. They’re everywhere on her beautiful face, from her lips to the corner of her mouth, chin, the side of her jaw.

“How do you want me,” he mumbles and it’s an uttered promise, somehow submissive though not completely, but also one that is full of love, trust.

She freezes for a moment, hands still on his neck, holding each other’s gaze and she watches as Harry walks to the bed, and he grabs the box. The shape of the object in his hands feels unfamiliar to the eye, the dazzling, hot pink dildo at the front makes them both swallow in anticipation and she knows Harry is clueless about what his next move should be.

It certainly wasn’t their first time trying out things in the bedroom. They were both ‘kinky’, as some would call it, they liked rough sex, the kind that left bruises and marks behind, but never anything like this. Sure, she did give him a rim job a few times, his darker, puckered hole made her mouth water and she wanted nothing more than to get on her knees and kiss and lick the flesh until Harry was a mess, coming in long spurts. He loved having his ass licked, he loved sitting on her face, with his big cock stuffing her warm, tiny mouth as he forced her to take everything in, moving his ass back and forth across her mouth as she tried to lick every inch of the bitter flesh, wanting to please him, make him fall apart above her.

But, despite Harry letting her lick his ass could be considered as a vulnerability or submission to some, she was always his submissive. She loved it; they both loved it. She also knew today wasn’t the day she would give up on that submission. No, today was all about Harry, and what he wanted, how he wanted it, and it was about her giving it to him. So she gives him a tiny smile, hands reaching to grab the strap-on from his hands, and he watches with great intent, pupils dilated and mouth parted.

She swallows, and looks up at him with apprehension. “I want you to use me,” she lets out, a shaky breath following behind. “I want you to… I want you to do whatever you want with me. I know this,” her gaze falls to the pink dildo surrounded by black leather of the harness. “It’s something we haven’t done before, at least… fully–”

Harry giggles, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. “Fully.”

“Shh. I’m just saying that… we haven’t done this before but I still want you to be in charge, at least… at least–”

“You want me to be the Daddy, hm? You still want Daddy to tell you what to do, how to fuck him? Y’gonna be my little fuck toy? Is that what you want, darling?”

“Yes,” her breath hitches at her throat. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. You’re so good to Daddy, darling. Always spoiling me, always looking after me, taking care of Daddy… how’d I get so lucky?”

“Daddy deserves it,” she looks up, waiting for his command to get naked and she can see it in his eyes, the hesitant gaze as if he wants to make sure she’s okay still even though he’s the one who’s about to get fucked.

“Go on then,” he mutters, hands going to his own joggers as he lets them pool around his ankles. He reaches up, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “Get naked for Daddy and put it on.”

And she does, oh, she does.

It doesn’t take long, considering she only has a ratty t-shirt on and a pair of joggers, and nothing underneath. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, her forgoing underwear, but they both can’t help but hold each other’s gaze a minute longer. She notices the fiery look in his eyes, pupils now looking like a pair of black buttons as his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth.

She lets her eyes wander, gaze travelling from each puffy nipple that are now beginning to harden, to the hair on his chest, then the hair that’s following his happy trail, all the way down to his cock. She feels her heart clench in lust at the sight of his hard cock, slightly curved with a vein following underneath, and she just wants to get down on her knees and put it in her mouth. She remembers him asking her whether to shave or not a couple of weeks ago, and the thick pubic hair surrounding his perfect cock makes her mouth water, feeling content that she’d told him not to touch any razors.

She looks up at him again, to see the expression on his face and he smiles, hand reaching for her.

“Come.”

She walks towards him, the strap-on in hand, and a tiny whimper leaves her mouth when her hand finds her boob, long fingers trapping her pebbled nipple between them as he twists the darker nub, once, twice, and he lets it go only to slap it, causing her to gasp as she quickly tries to suppress the noise with her palm pressing against her mouth. It stings, but doesn’t hurt. Not at all. In fact, it frustrates her despite the tingling, stinging feeling between her legs. She needs more. She wants more.

“Get this on and get on your knees,” he mutters, hand now on her neck as he squeezes briefly, watching as she gets the strap-on on and tightens the straps. “You’re gonna get Daddy’s cock nice and wet before you can fuck his ass. Understand?”

She pairs her quiet ‘yes’ with a nod, mind too hazy to actually look into Harry’s eyes as her shaky fingers fiddle with the harness. The clasps make a clicking sound, very satisfying to their ears, and she swallows, getting on her knees in front of him. Clean, soapy smell of his skin chafes the tip of her nose very gently and Harry begins playing with her hair, hands stroking the side of her face before one finds the back of her neck, bringing her towards his hard cock.

“Take it in your mouth,” his thumb presses hard on her bottom lip, as if to remind her who’s in control despite the foreign object she’s been supporting.

Her gaze wanders, taking in his thick, leaking cock, and with one hand steady on his meaty thigh, she brings the other to his balls, humming when she feels them tight already. The wrinkly skin of it is soft and not at all unfamiliar to her. So, she leans in to press a flat tongue against his balls, not missing the way Harry’s thighs jerk in response, and she then takes them into her mouth. She hums at the feeling in her mouth as she alternates between sucking and licking them and Harry lets out a quivering sigh above her, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of her mouth around him.

He lets out a his when her teeth grazes over the area lightly. “Fuck, babe. You like my balls?”

Of course, there’s no time to respond, nor the possibility of her forming coherent words since he’s literally balls deep in her mouth, so she proceeds to hum around him, a few hairs there tickling her nose and lips as she sucks. With a pop, she lets them go and darts out her tongue again, travelling the warm, wet muscle from underneath his cock, to the tip. It’s a deep, pink colour, shiny and smooth, so she can’t help but wrap her mouth around the tip, earning a quick jolt of his hips from Harry as the action takes him by surprise.

She looks up, and sucks the tip as if it’s an ice lolly, and the salty taste of his pre-cum fills the insides of her mouth, fingernails pressing harder into his meaty thighs, and she wishes she could see the mark her nails left behind on his tiger tattoo.

Series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s leave his mouth as he guides her head down his cock, and as always, she obeys while taking him deeper and deeper, her warm saliva coating his thickness and she moans around his warm cock as she brings her hands to his ass. While still sucking, she squeezes there, fingernails digging into the perfect skin of his ass and he lets out a hiss first, then pulls her hair harshly before pressing her face down his cock, a shaky moan following as she takes him deeper, her throat welcoming the warmth and thickness of his cock like it always does.

“You’re such a cock slut for me, aren’t you? Can’t keep that mouth away from Daddy,” he pulls her away from his cock, hands immediately going to her mouth to smear the pre-cum and spit all over her mouth and chin. "You wanted to treat Daddy for his birthday, hm?”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Always spoiling me, making me feel so, so fucking good,” he squeezes one of her boobs, twisting the nipple between his fingers before his gaze falls to the strap-on and the dildo secured tightly to the harness. He gets on his knees. “Make me suck that cock.”

The words, they just sound so hot, so filthy coming out of his mouth, making her weak in the knees as she swallows, and she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing there once before it travels to the back of his head. She feels in control, having him on his knees, at her command even though he’s still somehow in charge, and it drives her crazy, having this gorgeous man all to herself.

She watches him as Harry’s curious gaze takes the pink dildo in. She knew it wasn’t his first time sucking a cock, despite the one now in his face being silicone. So when he goes in easily with her hands pulling him closer, she can’t help but whine at the expression on his face, eyes glittering and plump lips parted as he takes the cock into his mouth.

He coats the pink silicone with his saliva, eyes shut as if he’s trying to concentrate on an important task, pink lips looking like they belong there, around a cock. They look so sinful, yet so perfect as he bobs his head up and down, talking the cock further into his mouth and she tries to guide him but she knows he doesn’t need it. He knows what he’s doing.

“You look so hot,” she manages to let out, words coming out as a hum, low and quiet, and he opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering at the whispered compliment. “You look so good, Harry.”

He takes it out of his mouth briefly, a string of saliva making a bridge between his bottom lip and the dildo, and she reaches there, smearing it all over his bottom lip just like he did to her earlier as she loved seeing him dirty.

His pink tongue darts out and he wraps his lips around the finger on his bottom lip. “Gonna get me wet now?” He hums around her finger and she feels her pussy clench around nothing.

“Get on the bed.”

As Harry gets on all fours, ass in the air, her eyes wander to their lube on the nightstand. Ignoring the heat in her stomach, she sits on her knees behind Harry and touches his ass, fingers caressing the soft skin, touching the tiny mole there before she leans forward and presses a kiss there. It’s a peck, a sweet kiss that turns into more as her mouth opens, tongue flat against the warm skin as she sucks the flesh, causing him to let out a happy grunt.

He whispers her name, the excitement making her nipples tighten once again, but she moves her lips towards the crack, not wanting to stop.

“That’s it,” Harry groans, “Get Daddy wet before you put that cock in him.”

It’s a godly sight. Him on all fours, at her mercy, it was exquisite, intense, dirty. But she wanted to get him dirtier. With her hand parting one cheek, she bites her lip, noticing his rim, puckered and surrounded by little hairs, and all of a sudden, she can’t wait to get her mouth on him, to see the hairs get darker with her spit as he squirms under her touch.

She gets closer, a grin appearing on her face when he lets out quiet whines and whimpers, and she exhales a sigh into Harry’s milky flesh. Her tongue, hungry and hot, darts out to lick his rim briefly, just to get him wet before she uses her fingers. His cock, now a deeper shade of pink, hard and thick, is peeking between his legs, moving left and right from time to time whenever Harry or she moves, and she can’t help but reach there.

Harry sucks in a breath as her warm hand meets his hard cock, and she lets out a moan when she feels the thickness of it in her palm. It’s hot, so fucking hot, and the smooth skin of his cock is still damp, so she brings her thumb to his tip and smears the leaking pre-cum all over it, then drags her finger down to his balls and squeezes once.

His perfect mouth lets out a pained whimper when she lets go and focuses on the beautiful rim in front of her. She leans forward, both hands now parting his cheeks, and spits on his rim before flattening her tongue and lapping across Harry’s puckered hole. It’s not sweet, far from it actually, but the salty, bitter taste makes her even wetter as she keeps licking and sucking around his hole, satisfied when she hears him whimper and moan. Once it’s wet and the hairs around his rim get darker, she pulls away and licks a finger into her mouth, then grabs the lube from the bedside table and places it somewhere by Harry’s feet.

It’s fire, when she presses her middle finger into his hole, and Harry lets out a groan, her finger sliding in with ease with the help of her spit. “So tight,” she mumbles when Harry pushes his ass backwards only a little bit to match the tiny movements of her finger.

“Move faster,” Harry says, voice low. “Add another one.”

The lube is now in her hand as she brings it to where her finger is, takes it out, and allows a generous amount to coat the puckered area where her finger has been. Harry groans at the feeling, hole clenching around nothing, and she rubs the area with the same finger she’s been using, and presses it in before taking it out. This time, her middle finger is joined by her index as she fucks into his ass slowly, taking her sweet time while admiring the way he’s been taking her fingers. The skin makes wet noises, and she knows if they weren’t so worked up, they would have a giggle about it, just like they often do whenever one of them makes a questionable noise while having sex.

This time, though, the sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of his ass makes her go crazy, and she knows Harry feels the same when he lets out a loud grunt, pushing his ass back in sharp movements, in hopes of getting her to fuck him harder and deeper.

It goes on like that for a while, and they stop when he’s opened up enough, Harry’s rim now looking sore and pink. Once the dildo at her front is lubed up generously, she taps his ass once, making him turn his head back to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in question and mouth still parted due to the tingling feeling at the tip of his cock.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, gaze lowering. “Fuck Daddy’s ass. I’m ready,” his voice, hoarse and low, rings in her ears as she lifts the dildo up to his ass, his now-pink hole.

One hand holding the pink dildo from the base and the other resting on Harry’s back, she starts pushing it in, whines and hisses leaving his throat as soon as he feels the silicone tip. She watches as the tip digs into his ass, slowly and with effort despite all the lube, and she can’t help but bring her other hand to her boobs, squeezing once before she places it back on Harry’s ass. He’s a mess, sweat dripping down his back, and she knows he’s trying to keep quiet as neither of them would want to get caught by the other couple despite having the door locked.

“Fuck,” he grunts, head lowering.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he whimpers, ass trying to clench around the dildo but it fails due to how big it is. “Keep going, I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

She holds him by his love handles, fingernails digging into his milky, smooth skin as she moves her hips, the dildo now halfway in. With Harry moaning, she takes her time to admire how fucking hot he looks underneath her, with his ass filled with the pink dildo, and she sighs, continuing to fuck into his ass with the shiny dildo. It’s incredible how well he’s taking it, taking her, his puckered hole now a sore-pink, wet, and she feels like crying, not knowing how to handle what’s going on. She loves him. She loves him so fucking much, and she knows he does, too. She feels overwhelmed with love and hunger as she speeds up her hips, the dildo now fully inside him as she fucks his ass.

He gasps and jolts when the dildo presses right up to his prostate. “Fuckin’ hell. Please keep going, fuck Daddy hard. Fuck me, baby– god, I’m gonna cum soon. Keep going, keep fucking me,” he rasps.

“You’re taking it so well. You look so fucking good.”

“Oh fuck– it feels so good. Fuck me harder, come on, fuck me.”

Feeling brave, she presses her fingernails into his ass cheek, then lifts her hand, a loud smack landing on his left cheek and Harry hisses, fingers curling into the sheets as he lets out whimper after whimper. She watches as the dildo disappears into Harry’s ass, the pink mark on his ass becoming redder and angrier by the second and she decides to press her front against his back, laying down on him as she fucks into him deeper, nipples getting ridiculously hard as soon as they make contact with Harry’s sweaty back.

She finds it easier to fuck him in this position, and she likes that they’re much closer now, mouths searching for each other as he reaches behind and grabs her ass, squeezing hard as she keeps thrusting hard and deep. With kisses placed against his sweaty neck, Harry tries to turn his head to where hers is, and they meet in a rushed, teeth-clashing kiss, Harry’s tongue darting out to lick into her mouth, but missing in the end, and licking the corner of her mouth instead as she lets out a whine, hand searching for his cock that’s now trapped between his body and the sheets.

He helps her, lifts up his lower body and she starts moving her hand up and down on his hard cock, head resting on the crook of his neck as her hips move lazily. He’s so hard, and she knows he’s close by the sounds he’s making, his hips jerking forward from time to time as little ‘uh’s leave his mouth, and she wants to help him. She wants him to cum so bad. She wants to be the one making him cum so fucking hard.

“Are you gonna cum,” she whispers into his neck. “Please, baby. Cum for me. Show me how much you liked getting fucked.”

“God,” with cock still in her palm, he tries thrusting his hips forward to meet the strokes of her hand. “Please– I’m g’na cum so fuckin’ hard. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking good to me. Oh my god, baby, it hurts.”

“Yeah? It hurts?” She squeezes the base of his cock, then touches his balls briefly before continuing her strokes. “You’re taking it so well. Come on, Daddy. I need you to cum.”

“God, I’m– oh fuck. I’m gonna… Make me cum. Come on, make Daddy cum.”

She squeezes his cock once again, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to his cock. When he lets out a choked breath, she knows he’s coming. It’s hot, sticky, and so fucking dirty, the cum coating her palm, creating more lubrication as she keeps stroking him lazily, dildo still filling up his ass, and with a groan, Harry reaches behind to smack her ass.

They stay like that for a while, with her still inside him as he tries to catch his breath, and she proceeds to match their breaths to the clock on the wall, feeling completely spent but still frustrated since the pool of wetness between her folds seems to be intensifying every passing moment.

After a while, Harry clears his throat. “Are you a dream?” It’s soft, only a whisper, and sickeningly sweet.

“Hm?”

“You’re a dream. You’re unbelievable– I love love love you,” he sighs, voice breaking. It takes him a few seconds to complete his sentence.

“No, thank you. I hope… I hope you liked it?”

“Fucking loved it. What about you?”

“I did. You did so good,” she touches his sweaty hair. “But,” she starts, legs starting to feel sore. “I’m still so fucking wet.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, sweet girl–” Harry reaches behind and strokes her hip. “Can I fuck you now?”

“Yes, please.”

The strap-on now on the floor, Harry takes his time to admire her soft features, the sweat on her forehead and messy strands of hair sticking to her face. She rubs her eyes, and lets out a yawn, but her other hand reaches blindly for Harry, and he smiles, the gesture leaving his chest, his heart heavy and hot and full of love. He lets her hold on to him as she keeps rubbing her eyes, then he links their fingers as she opens her eyes to find him staring.

She gives him a lazy smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“All right, Shakespeare… mhm, come here,” she pulls him closer by his love handles. “I love you. Happy birthday. Again.”

“I love you so much. How is it possible to want you this much, hm?” He mumbles against her sweaty neck, not caring about the bitter taste of her skin. He watches as her smile widens, eyes tired and sleepy. “There’s a halo in your mouth.”

pls reblog if you enjoyed it! it only takes a second but it helps me tons <3 inbox is always open for your feedback!!!!! <3 lu

#harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #sub!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n

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dancingaliensfics · 3 years

Text

♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

#zemo x reader #helmut x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #tfatws

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nostalgiabones · 4 years

Text

The Story of Us // C.H

It feels like SO LONG since I last posted any writing! Here is the second instalment of the Song Series for my last follow milestone (which I announced and then just didn’t write for 2 months😳). I had a moment at 2am where everything fell into place with this fic and I was screaming about it to @calumrose lmao. It’s taken a long time but I’m so happy with how this has turned out and I LOVE the concept of this song so much. I’d love to know what you think!

Song: The Story of Us — Taylor Swift

Word count: 5.1k

Tapping your fingernails on the counter, your eyes search around the busy kitchen for a familiar face – one to ease the anxiety of the first party you’ve attended for longer than you can remember. The kitchen gives you more space to breathe than the garden you fought your way through to get to the house, greeting smiles and quick ‘hellos’ to friends you haven’t seen for a while. There’s one friend in particular you’re expecting to see, yet a part of you doesn’t want to.

“Hey, you made it!”

The voice of a close friend fills your ears over the pounding of the bass from the speaker in the lounge, pumping the whole house (and possibly, the whole street) with music. You can tell Ashton has already taken over the playlist, old classic rock songs being the common theme so far. The counter is already sticky with alcohol. It was one of these parties where you first met Calum – in his true drunk state, he had spilt a drink over your shoes, and spent the remainder of the night trying to make it up to you. He apologised any chance he got, no matter how much you reassured him it was okay and insisted on giving you his number so he could ‘apologise again when he was sober.’ He had done, too, and that’s where it began.

Most Friday nights you’d get a text from him asking you to tag along to whoever’s party was going on, telling you that they weren’t the same without you there. “I need you there as my wingman,” he’d insist, although he had no intention of going home with anyone else. His turn to host rolled around, and that’s when things had changed – the night had ended with you crashing on his spare bed. Everyone else had left and he didn’t see you go, and it wasn’t until Duke had his attention that he had found you – curled up on the bed in his spare room. He thought about waking you up, but decided that he couldn’t bring himself to do it once his gaze fell upon your sleeping face. All he did was remove your shoes, to make you more comfortable, and tuck you in so you didn’t get cold. He had murmured a “good night,” pushing your hair away from your face with a kiss to your forehead.

The next morning, he had found you in his kitchen; Duke keeping you company, curled up in your lap as you wait for Calum to wake up. Waking up in his spare bedroom had been a surprise, yet you didn’t feel entirely uncomfortable. You could’ve left straight away, just leaving a note, but you didn’t. You stayed for breakfast, testing Calum’s cooking skills, and both of you (silently) felt as though you wish it could happen more often.

After that, the texts weren’t just invitations to parties.

They were invitations to get coffee, to take Duke on a hike, to listen to a song he was working on. Any reason he could think of to see you, he would take it, yet he wouldn’t admit to himself why he wanted to see you so often. Your friends knew it; at every party you’d arrive together, dance together, his fingertips would linger on your hips, always touching you somehow. It looked so easy, fun, and free from the outside.

You’re the lucky ones.

Four words both you and Calum had heard time and time again from your friends. They’d see the smiles that grace both yours and his lips at parties when you were together, losing yourselves in the music and each other. Friends would ask where you both stood; what you are, or what you were. Some had called it friends with benefits, most thought you were dating, but whenever you were asked, all you could reply was “I don’t know.” It seemed as though your friends never believed you, but it was the truth — Calum doesn’t like labels.

Calum would take you on unofficial dates; never labelled as such, but something as casual as going to dinner didn’t quite feel the same when he refused to let you pay and you ended up in his bed. Most nights you’d just stay up talking, watching the evening bleed into night as the sun sets and the moon rises. You’d talk about anything from his eclectic taste in music to what the purpose of life is, yet somehow, you never talked about your relationship. Anything but yourselves. The first time he kissed you, it almost felt accidental; his face was just that bit too close to yours for you to not kiss him, his chapped lips brushing yours for a brief moment. His eyes had quickly assessed the expression on your face, wondering whether you were thinking the same thing of what just happened. He had waited a moment before asking “Is it okay if I kiss you again?” and of course… you said yes. You felt something, so did he, but the feelings never translated to words; you never found out what was going on inside his head. And that was the problem.

“I brought you a drink!” You’re snapped out of your thoughts by her voice as she hands you the red cup, filled with whatever had been thrown together in the ice bucket at the other side of the kitchen. You had watched her do the rounds around the room, catching up with everyone else hanging around, and had finally made her way to you. “You know Calum is here, right? Why are you over here all by yourself?”

You hope she didn’t ask him the same question. It’s clear your facial expression gives more away than you intended, and you’re met with a furrowed brow before she continues.

“Did something happen?” She questions, an inquisitive expression on her face as she glances over your shoulder. It’s in that moment you realise he’s there, at the other side of the room, and suddenly it feels like the walls are closing in. She knows Calum well too, but they really are just friends — she can tell something is off with him, too. You allow your eyes to glance to where he’s stood, talking to someone you recognise but whose name you can’t recall. Calum’s eyebrows are furrowed, he looks deep in thought although he’s definitely not paying attention to the conversation that he’s stuck in. “Never mind, don’t answer that. New question, what happened?”

You sigh, taking a sip of the drink she handed you before trying to think of an answer. What did happen? Things have become distant. As much as you enjoy being around Calum, sometimes the uncertainty is too much. He’s a closed book; very difficult to talk to about how he feels, and it leads to you overthinking way too much. Sometimes you just want to sit him down and tell him everything; how even though your relationship is nothing serious, sometimes you wish it could be. You try not to get attached in case he doesn’t think anything of you in the way you wish, sometimes. It’s difficult when he treats you better than any man has before.

“I just haven’t seen him for a while,” You tell her, and it’s not a lie. You haven’t seen him. It doesn’t add up though, not to any of your friends — the two of you would be the life of the party normally. It doesn’t feel the same when you’re at opposite ends of the room.

“Then why aren’t you over there catching up?” She asks, and you know you can’t hide it anymore. She can see it in your eyes. It’s rare that you’re not joined at the hip in any social situation; your friends didn’t know too much about you and Calum in private, yet you know she won’t be the only one to notice the distance between the two of you. They don’t know about the ‘dates’ or about the times where you’ve called him crying after a bad day. They don’t know about the kisses, how he holds you in the dark of the night, or how you know more about him than anyone you’ve ever met. They don’t know about you and Calum.

You pause for a minute before answering her.

“Nothing happened between us,” You sigh, your nails anxiously tapping against the plastic cup in your hand. “That’s the problem.”

You watch as Calum laughs at a joke a friend has made. It’s not his true laugh though – where his eyes crinkle and his nose twitches, where he looks as though his cheeks could burst from how hard he’s smiling. That’s a laugh reserved for you, when you tell him a silly childhood story at 3:00am. There are many parts of Calum which only you get to see. You notice his hair has grown out compared to when you saw him last. The blonde is hardly there now, just specs throughout the ends of the dark curls. Your heart thuds in your chest as you look at him – he’s right there, yet he feels a million miles away, like there’s a wall in the middle of the room preventing you from getting any closer. It’s even further to reach his heart.

Calum is a closed book, but the pages you have read, you remember.

You know his feelings on a lot of things. You know he loves his family more than anything in the world, that he eventually wants to grow old in Australia near the beach, and that his purpose in this lifetime is to make music for people to fall in love with. He cares deeply about those around him, he shows his love through affection, he calls Duke his soulmate. He loves to cook for those close to him and has a list of recipes in his phone of meals he wants to make for his mum. He once spent a whole night telling you how his sister is one of his biggest inspirations. Playing shows and meeting those who support him makes him feel alive. You know a lot about Calum... except for how he feels about you.

“You should talk to him,” She suggests, a gentle touch on your arm to get your attention. It sounds like such a simple thing to do – just talk to him! Just tell him how you feel!However, Calum is so guarded, that the thought of the feeling not being reciprocated looms over you too much to think about doing it. You wouldn’t even know where to begin, months’ worth of emotions and frustrations to work through. It would only work if Calum were willing to talk to. And you’re not sure he is. “You’re not going to have fun until you do, and neither will he. It’s not like you to be so quiet.”

You cross your arms and bite the inside of your lip – two signs that Calum would recognise as anxiety if he looked in your direction.

“Calum doesn’t know how to talk about us.” You retort, a defeated tone to your voice before you even think about talking to him. Although, you have to admit, it wouldn’t be fair to blame to Calum alone. How could a situation be so simple yet so complex at the same time? No-one had ever made you feel as free as he does; so comfortable with the space to be yourself no matter what. He never judged you. Night by night he broke your walls down; learning more each time about your family, about what lead to you to Los Angeles, about your deepest ambitions. Although whenever you went longer than usual without seeing each other, it made you want to be guarded again, unable to shake the anxiety that comes along with sharing your deepest secrets with someone. All of it in turn had led to weeks, nearly a month of no communicating, and you’d be lying if you said there’s nothing you want more than to fall asleep in his arms once more.

“You should try.” She tells you once more, and you know she’s right. “Trust me.”

She excuses herself to go catch up with someone else, and your eyes can’t help but land on Calum at the other side of the room. He looks more comfortable now, but you notice Luke to his right, and realise that’s probably why. There are so many people around, yet you’ve never felt so alone, like an alien in the group. Calum made you feel everything but alone, especially at a party, he’d never leave your side. You never had the chance to feel lonely. Yet in this moment, it’s all you can think about. You wonder if he feels as alone as you do.

Your fingertips fall to the corner of your jacket, nervously fumbling with the material, needing something to ground you whilst trying to think of something other than Calum. You don’t get very long to do so before your phone offers a distraction; a text lighting up the screen, the contact name of ‘Cal’ making your stomach drop.

Meet me upstairs in 5? Spare room at the back.

You can’t help but sigh at the words, your eyes locked on the screen; too scared to look up in case he’s watching your reaction. It feels so impersonal. Why didn’t he just come and talk to you?

Downing the rest of your drink, you head to grab another one, knowing you’ll need it if you’re going to talk to him. What does he want to talk about? What are you meant to say? The questions are a constant dialogue in your mind, occupying the space, leaving room for little else. Glancing around the room, you note that Calum is no longer there, and that he must’ve gone upstairs to wait for you. It feels like you’re floating as you head up the stairs. Not in a happy way, more due to nerves – the adrenaline and anxiety flooding your veins as your fingers grasp the handrail leading to the upper floor of the house. There’s three bedrooms that you can see; one to each side, and one straight ahead at the back of the house. The door is ajar, and you just know Calum is sat on the bed waiting for you.

Your knuckles gently tap the wooden door and you hear Calum clear his throat; your heart races, and when you push the door open, it’s hard to look at him. Having him there, right in front of you, is almost too much to process and it suddenly feels like there’s no air in the room.

Calum’s eyes follow you as you join him at the end of the bed, not too close to him, yet close enough that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted to. No words are said – you stare at your boots, clearing your throat and waiting for Calum to speak first. You’re both too stubborn.

“Why are you so nervous?” Calum breaks the silence – his voice is deeper than you remember. It’s quiet, yet loud enough that you can hear him over the sound of the music and people talking and singing downstairs. His hands rest on either side of him, fingertips pressed into the duvet as he turns to look at you. It makes his heart ache a little that you’re avoiding his gaze, and he knows you’re uncomfortable. “It’s just me.”

Just him.

“You know you make me nervous,” You retort, a sarcastic yet innocent twinge to your voice as you reply. You know he knows that. It’s something the two of you joked about from the beginning – saying it’s the reason you never spoke to him before the shoe incident. He’s a mysterious person, intriguing; a tough person to get through to, especially when you don’t know him. “Especially when we haven’t talked in a while.”

He nods, a smirk on his lips, but there’s nothing about the situation he finds funny. He’s missed you a lot, and now you’re in the same room together, with no choice but to talk – he realises how much distance there is between you both. Silence has never been so loud before. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to tell you how much he’s missed you. He’s not one to be openly expressive with his emotions, he usually does it through gestures or shows of affection – yet he hasn’t had the chance to show that side of him with you.

“What have you been up to?” He asks, trying to make you feel less uneasy around him before he asks anything more cutting. That was one thing you always admired about Calum – his warmth, his ability to put people at ease by holding conversation. He’s a social butterfly, he loves getting to meet people when he’s out. He has his quiet moments at home when he has time to think. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed as he murmurs a quieter, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

The last few words catch you off guard and now it’s your turn to look at him, his eyes cast towards the ground and his jaw clenched. His eyebrows are furrowed, and you know there’s a million thoughts swirling around his head. Is that Calum admitting some feelings towards you?

“I’ve just been working, really. I went home for a little while, like I told you about,” You reply, remembering back to the last night you spent with Calum, just after you booked your tickets home. Although what you don’t tell him is that most of the time, you couldn’t stop thinking about him being there with you. “How was Europe?”

You had plans to go home, Calum had the rest of his year planned out for him – he had been with the band in Europe and the UK for a little while, and you kept up with his travels on Instagram. Calum had been thinking about you too. He knows how badly you want to travel; that being one of the ambitions you had admitted to him, and he wants to fulfil it. With every cold hotel bed that he slept him, he wanted you to keep him warm. Exploring a city wasn’t quite the same on his own.

“It was different,” He answers, and you’re not sure what he means by that. You wait for him to expand on what ‘different’ entails, yet he doesn’t. Different means unsettled; it means that he didn’t get chance to say goodbye to you before he left, and it didn’t sit right with him. He saw you viewing his Instagram stories, he started to post them just to see if you’d keep watching. You did.

And the room is silent all over again. It is for several moments, until you speak up again.

“Why did you ask me to come up here?” You prod, wanting to cut the small talk. As nice as it is to catch up, there’s a weight on your chest – one that won’t be relieved until something gives with Calum. You don’t want to fight, but there’s things that need to be said. “I didn’t have you down as a ‘texting from the same room’ kinda guy. You could’ve just come and talked to me.”

Calum huffs a laugh, a hand lifting to run through the thick curls upon his head. A tell-tale sign of his own anxiety. He doesn’t say anything, though.

“Now who’s the nervous one?” You continue, raising your eyebrows, knowing you have the upper hand. “What, is the thought of talking about your feelings making you uncomfortable? What else is new?”

He sighs, sitting for a moment, thinking of what to respond. Now you’re more comfortable, he knows there’s no holding back. It’s not going to be an easy conversation.

“First of all, I couldn’t just come up and talk to you. There were too many eyes on us, my friends already noticed we weren’t talking. I know yours did too,” He tells you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. He has so many walls up and trying to break them down is exhausting.

“I miss you holding me as tightly as you’re holding your pride right now,” You murmur, picking at your nails, avoiding his gaze as you speak the words. Now Calum is the one caught off guard. “I want to know how you’re feeling, Calum. I need to know whether this is killing you as much as it’s killing me.”

For a moment Calum thinks he hears your voice catching in his throat and it goes straight to his heart like a dagger, his head snapping up to look at you. He never wanted any of this to happen – he didn’t mean to hurt you. The lack of communication between you both is astounding to him, now that he thinks about it; the lack of boundaries – the line between friendship and more somewhat blurred. The whole thing seems blurry now, and he’s not sure how to provide the clarity he knows you’re looking for.

“I don’t know what to say.” He admits, truly at a loss for words. There’s so much to say, yet so little. Where does he begin? He hears your sharp intake of breath and he knows you’re frustrated – barely getting more than one sentence out of him at a time.

“Calum, I’m so tired of having to pretend like I don’t care about whatever this is. Right now, it feels like we’re competing to see who cares less. I want to know how you feel about me, about us.” It’s like something is awoken in you. If this is the last conversation you have with him, you want to know it all; whether the nights of sleeping next to him meant as much to him as they did to you. “No more holding back.”

Calum clicks his tongue before he nods, inhaling through his nose, placing one hand on the bed so he can put his weight on it to look right at you. “Alright.”

“Tell me,” Your tone is slightly softer now that he’s agreed. As frustrating as it can be at times, you know it’s not an easy thing for Calum. You know he cares. He just needs to show it. “I’m listening.”

“You want to know what I think about when I look at you?” Calum starts, looking right at you – you’re drawn in by his stare. It’s a lot. Taking a deep breath, you prepare for whatever he’s going to say, and nod in a gesture for him to continue. “I think about the night of my party when I found you on the spare bed. How, for some reason, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep at my house, when we weren’t even that close then. How when I tucked you into bed, you just looked so peaceful. You worry too much when you’re awake.”

You felt free around Calum, yet you didn’t at the same time. You could be yourself, he wanted to know everything about you – yet without the labels of a relationship, you held back from showing too much. There were times Calum wanted to kiss you, and when you wanted to kiss him, but you didn’t. Friends don’t just do that. The more he got to know you, the more he wanted to know, but the more he felt like holding back. He realises a lot of things could be solved if you had just talked a little earlier.

“And then I remember the morning after, when I woke up and Duke wasn’t in my bed, so I knew something was different. How I found you sat in my kitchen with him – that you didn’t leave before I woke up. It just felt so normal, I couldn’t shake it off all day, after you left...” He continues, like he’s letting his mind get away with him. He’s barely said anything, yet it’s the most you’ve heard about how he feels about you. “I didn’t want you to leave. I didn’t realise that until you had gone.”

Calum notices the little things. There are countless moments in his mind that he wishes he could live all over again – a lot of the firsts with you. He wishes he would’ve appreciated them more in the moment.

“And then I think about the first time we kissed. I didn’t think it was going to happen then, I don’t think either of us meant for it to. We have a lot of firsts... the first time I saw you cry, after that fight with your parents, when you called me before anyone else. I like that you rely on me, sometimes, it says a lot about how you feel.” He explains, and it’s so much to take in. “I guess I looked for your feelings in your actions, rather than just asking you. Things would probably be different now if we had just communicated with each other.”

You nod, and know it’s not just Calum to blame. Your communication was just as lack lustre as his. Calum read into your body language and actions a lot – he’d notice when you’d hug him tighter just for a moment longer, or when you’d bring him his usual coffee order, after stopping off to get one for yourself. Calum notices the little things, and they mean a lot.

“What about you?” He asks, and you should’ve expected it. “Tell me how you feel.”

Every moment that passes feels like a lifetime; you’re both taking the time to think.

“I liked it better when you were on my side,” You murmur with a small smile, allowing yourself to think of when things were how they used to be. Nothing has really felt the same since. You decide it’s time to lay everything out, to say everything you’ve wanted him to know for the past few months – at least then, if anything, you don’t leave with any regrets. Calum nods at the words, knowing he’d rather go back to the good times too. “I miss sleeping in your bed. I don’t feel like I’ve talked to anyone in so long. I didn’t realise how much we shared with each other until I didn’t speak to you for a while. Now that we’re here talking… it kinda feels like I can breathe again.”

As wonderful as things could be with Calum, it wasn’t always easy. As soon as you left his house, you’d be thinking the time you spent together over and over, questioning the little things; whether he meant to rest his hand on your thigh whilst you watched a movie, or whether he knows exactly how you like your drinks. It consumed you sometimes, leaving your head spinning and heart aching. It hurt him too, sometimes, when he’d drive you home with Duke in the backseat and wait until he saw you make it safely inside. Duke would jump up at the window, as if to wonder where you had gone, and he’d murmur a “I know how you feel, buddy.”

You’re both caught up in your thoughts, and Calum doesn’t have time to say anything else before you set the record straight.

“I don’t want to hold back anymore, Cal. Not if you want it too. I’m either all in, or all out. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle where I don’t know where I stand. I can’t do it again.” Your voice cracks as you speak, and Calum almost breaks on the spot; he doesn’t want to be the cause of your tears. Not ever. He scoots across the bed a little and reaches out; warm, calloused fingers gently picking your own hand up and fitting it in his own. His fingers link with yours and he gently squeezes, trying to get you to look at him.

“Please don’t cry, love,” He murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He doesn’t know why you’re emotional, whether it’s because you’re still unsure of where he stands, the relief of talking everything through, or something else.

Commitment isn’t something that comes natural to Calum. He’s passionate about a lot of things; when he cares about something, he gives it his all, but his heart is guarded. It terrifies him to have to be vulnerable, but he knows that if he doesn’t let you in, he’ll regret it forever. In reality, he’s already let you in… He just has to admit to himself.

“I’m all in. You have my word, and my heart. No more going back and forth, okay? I want it all. You’ve got me.” He reassures you, his free hand resting on top of your joint ones, thumb stroking back and forth over the top of your palm. You nod and swallow the lump in your throat, relief coursing through your veins at the reassurance from his words. It feels like everything is lifted from your shoulders, like you can breathe once more.

“You have me, too. I want to be with you, I want you, but we have to learn how to talk to each other,” You tell him, knowing communication is going to be the crucial difference between before and now. It’s not going to work without. “I know it’s not easy, but we have to try.”

Calum moves closer and almost pulls you into his lap, one arm going around your shoulders to pull you close to him. You’re flooded with warmth and the familiar scent of a combination of his washing powder and his cologne, one that still lingers on your bedsheets months after he last slept there, one that you’ve missed. One that is just simply Calum. You bury your face against his neck and his free hand lands on your thigh, a comforting gesture; he just wants to be as close as possible.

His hand moves from your thigh and his fingertips gently take your chin, tilting your face so you’re looking right at him. His pointer finger traces your cheekbone, down your cheek, under your bottom lip as he breathes you in.

“No more holding back,” He murmurs, his chapped lips brushing yours, a feeling of relief crashing over the two of you and your mouths get acquainted once more. It’s been too long, Calum decides, as he pulls back for a moment and his lips are right back on yours again. It’s mere seconds before he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and it’s a sensation you’ve missed; he tastes of alcohol as he kisses you and you commit the feeling to memory. The tips of your noses nudge together as the kiss goes on and you never want it to end; it’s the start of a new era, a new beginning to your relationship now that you can call it that. The kiss is urgent and desperate, and it says everything unspoken – there’s a long way to go, but it feels like a good start. “Can I take you home?”

“Please.”

Next chapter.

***

If you’ve made it this far — thank you so so much for reading! I’d love to know what you think, and if you have any requests for songs I could write about — please let me know! 🥰

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#ahhh I forgot the anxiety of posting LMAO I really love this concept so I hope people like it 🥺🥰#5sos au #boyfriend!5sos #boyfriend calum hood #5sos blurbs #calum hood blurbs #5sos fic #boyfriend 5sos fic #boyfriend calum fic #domestic!5sos #calum hood #calum hood x reader #songseries #mywriting

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css1992 · 3 years

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Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost three months into his new life, Peter was finally able to establish a routine that worked for him. He woke up around nine in the morning, tried to get some sort of exercise done, usually yoga or a jog around the block, then he had breakfast by himself, because both Ned and MJ had class or work before he was even up. After that, he made sure to post something on Just4fans, so people could see it throughout the day, and answered private messages and comments from the night before. Lastly, he headed to his newly created Twitter account to promote the new content and to interact with people there as well – it was a great way to get new subscribers.

That usually took up most of his morning, then he went downstairs to Ned and MJ’s apartment for lunch. He usually ate with at least one of them, except for Mondays and Wednesdays, when neither was home, but even then he ate at their place since he didn’t own any kitchen appliances yet – it was on the priority list, but not that high up, he liked having an excuse to visit his friends every day.

Later, he headed back upstairs and, depending on the day, he would take new pictures and videos or edit the ones he took the day before. Finally, at night, he posted more content on his Just4fans and chatted with his subscribers until it was time for bed.

In the last week of April, on one of his morning jogs, he noticed that just a few blocks away from his building there was a charity called the Bright Future Foundation. He thought the name sounded familiar, but try as he may, he couldn’t remember where he had heard of them. It was only after running past it a few times that it clicked – Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, told Peter to look it up.

The Bright Future Foundation helped kids who aged out of foster care get their lives together. They offered support in the form of scholarships and grants, academic and personal mentoring, and help with internships and employment readiness skills. That was what their website said, as Peter vaguely remembered from his high school years, when he still planned on going to college.

He went inside one day, not really sure why, and when the front desk lady asked how she could help him he just stood there for a few minutes, silent and nervous. She asked if he wanted to learn about their programs, but he shook his head, sticking his hands in his pockets. The woman waited patiently, a motherly smile on her face, until Peter asked if they needed any help.

And that was how volunteering at BFF became a part of his new routine – every Thursday from nine to five, starting in the first week of May. Since it was just a few blocks away from his place, he could walk there instead of taking the subway.

He liked his new routine, it was tiring but it didn’t leave a lot of time for overthinking or ruminating on the past. He never felt lonely because Ned and MJ were always around and he actually made a few friends among his subscribers, which was nice.

For the first time in a while, Peter was feeling happy. And it wasn’t an elaborate, fragile sort of happiness, where things needed to be in perfect place for the feeling to be felt, no. It was the simplest kind of happiness: he had friends, a job, a place to crash and everything was fine. Nothing was perfect, but it was fine.

A few days after he sent Tony the lingerie pictures, he decided to send him the video. He was a little insecure about it, it was 13 minutes long after editing and Peter had really lost it for a minute there, one could clearly tell. He was gone for most of the video, a moaning mess, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, begging for something – someone – that wasn’t even there. It either looked ridiculous or fucking hot depending on the person watching, and even though he was pretty sure Tony would not think it was ridiculous, he still worried just a little, but he sent it anyway. It was still early in the day when he did, some time around noon, and he didn’t expect him to answer any time soon, so went on with his day.

Tony messaged him around 2AM, as usual, but there was no text, just three videos in the chat. In the first one, it looked like he was wearing a suit, he could see the dress pants pulled down and the white shirt pulled up as Tony jacked off for thirty seconds before he came all over his hand. It looked like he was in a bathroom stall, sitting on a toilet, and Peter bit his lower lip, wondering if he was at work when the video was taken.

The second video was similar to the first, but it looked like he was in a garage or something like that – probably the workshop he always talked about –, Peter could see a black shirt bunched up around his waist and sweatpants around his thighs.

Last but not least there was a video of him completely naked, lying in bed, and the video was shot from Tony’s point of view, like he was holding his cell phone close to his face, looking down, instead of propping it up in front of him like he usually did.

They were all incredible and delicious and got Peter rock hard in a second. The boy got comfortable on the bed, lay on his back, took off his pajama bottoms and sighed when his cock sprung free, shivering a little when the chilly night air touched his heated skin. He planted his feet on the mattress and spread his legs, but didn’t do more than that yet.

“That good?” He messaged Tony, cheekily, and the older man started typing right away.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole entire life and I’m 48, so yeah. That good.”

Hm, forty-eight. So Peter wasn’t wrong in his assumption. He bit his lower lip, a rush of excitement running through his veins. Tony was so much older, almost thirty years his senior. Peter supposed he must be really experienced. He wondered if he usually hooked up with younger men or if in real life he only dated women – it wouldn’t be a shock – but most of all, he wondered what he looked like. Maybe he dyed his hair, but if he didn’t, it was probably mostly gray and fuck Peter if he didn’t have a thing for that.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You broke me. I was in the middle of a meeting when you sent that video, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom to watch it. What have you done to me, witch?” Peter wanted to laugh, but it got stuck in the back of his throat with a moan when he slid a hand to his lower abdomen and his cock stood to attention.

“I don’t know about that, but your videos sure got me horny as fuck.” He rolled his hips a little, humping the air, and finally gave in to himself, holding his cock in one hand and the cellphone in the other.

“Is that so?” He could almost hear his voice through the phone – soft, but powerful. He always imagined Tony would sound like that if they ever talked face to face.

“Yes, daddy” And that would always be his default answer to anything he might ask with that voice. He closed his eyes for a second, quickening the pace of his strokes just a little, when his phone beeped again.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yes, daddy” Peter shivered, imagining Tony’s reaction to that revelation.

“Can I hear you, baby boy?”

He didn’t even hesitate, he started recording a voice message and moaned into the phone, thrusting his hips against his fist as he quietly begged for Tony’s cock, his fingers, his mouth, anything, he just wanted the man to be there taking care of him, making him cum, that was all he wanted, and he wanted it so badly.

He came in just a few seconds and hit send on the voice message before he could overthink it. As he lay there, breathless, staring at the ceiling and trying to gather his strength, he fantasized about Tony listening to it. He smiled to himself, like an idiot, then his cellphone beeped, bringing him back to reality.

“You’re gonna drive me mad, you know that? I’m actually going insane and it’s all your fault. Also, my dick is gonna fall off and that’s on you, too.” Peter had the presence of mind to laugh at the message, but it took him a few seconds to gather enough energy to write back to him.

“That’s a serious accusation, Tony, I’m gonna need all the evidence I can get, so every time you touch yourself thinking of me, make sure to send me proof, ok?”

“Oh, you don’t know what you just got yourself into.” Again, Peter could only laugh, because judging by the amount of videos Tony sent him that day, he really was in for a treat.

Days later, on Friday, Peter got up early to go for his usual jog around the block. He was a little tired from the day before, still adjusting to his new routine at BFF – it was his third week there and they were starting to realize that Peter was a quick learner and very eager to help, so they took advantage of that, which was fine with him, he was thrilled to be able to help somehow.

So after a quick, half-assed jog around the block, he went back home, showered and decided to take the rest of the pictures Tony asked for. The man was still going nuts over the video, he wouldn’t stop talking about it and every day there was a video of him finishing himself off in their chat and Peter could hear his own voice in the background, screaming Tony’s name.

It was both embarrassing as fuck and hot as hell, so the younger man also spent a lot of those last few days in the shower trying to cool down, but Tony was not making it easier.

As much fun as that was, he was curious to see how Tony would react to the new pictures. He realized that would be the first time the older man would see him with clothes on, which sounded ridiculous, but it was true. He didn’t have many pictures on Instagram, but most of them were selfies and there were just a few where it was possible to see maybe a hint of a shirt, but that was it.

So he took the outfit he and MJ picked out and winced, remembering how much it cost, but at least he picked out clothes he might wear some day – if he had a meeting with the queen of England, for example. He put on the light gray suit by Hugo Boss, with a pink shirt with big, white dots by Levi’s Vintage underneath, black dress shoes by Brunello Cucinelli and a Gucci watch he was able to find on sale for half the original price. The whole outfit was worth around five thousand dollars, and was definitely the most money he had ever spent on – well, anything.

He checked himself in the mirror and snorted a little, he sure looked like a spoiled brat, which was probably what Tony meant by “expensive and beautiful”, so that was fine. He styled his hair so it looked effortlessly tousled, but not too much, and set his camera to take the pictures by the living room window.

He took a few pictures on the windowsill, some other leaning against the glass with his hands in his pockets, a few others looking out the window. He posed on his armchair, too, which was the only piece of furniture he had in his living room at the moment and he wished he had a decent dining table so he could pose like he was on a date with the camera, but he supposed those would do.

Once he was satisfied with what he got, he took off the clothes, put them away and went downstairs to have lunch with Ned and MJ. For the first time since he moved in with them, they both had Friday afternoon off, so they spent it together, eating junk food, watching bad TV series and playing really old tabletop games Ned had brought with him when he moved from his parents’ house.

In between a game of Monopoly and Scrabble, Peter pulled his phone out to check his messages, and was surprised to find one from Tony, sent just a few minutes earlier. He checked the time and noticed he must still be at work, so he opened it, assuming it couldn’t be anything too sexual.

“Hey, are you feeling better today? Just checking in.”

Peter frowned for a second, but a quick look at their earlier messages reminded him that he was feeling a little under the weather the day before and he’d told Tony that before he went to bed.

“Hi, Tony! I’m all better now, thanks for asking. I guess it was just allergies or something.”

He didn’t expect Tony to answer right away, but as soon as his message was sent, he started typing.

“That’s good to hear, but you need to be a little more careful with your health, kitten. Just yesterday you said you had an apple for lunch. At 4PM.”

“You’re one to talk.” Peter snorted. They always berated each other for poor eating habits. Peter was a 20 year-old bachelor living by himself and sharing meals with his equally young and dumb friends, so pizza was on the menu more often than not; Tony was a forty-eight year-old businessman with too little time to care. “Did you even eat today?”

“Don’t try to turn this around, this isn’t about me.” Peter rolled his eyes and smiled to himself. “Did you do anything fun today?”

“I took some pictures for you, it was quite fun.” He knew the mention of new pictures would get him interested in a minute.

“Don’t play with my heart, kid. When can I see them?”

“I don’t know...” He teased just a little, because he knew Tony wasn’t above begging and it was fun to watch.

“Don’t be mean to daddy, come on. He’s always so good to you.” Peter smiled, because, yeah. He was.

“I’ll send them tonight, I promise.” He decided, since they would have more time to talk then, if he sent the pictures earlier, Tony would still be at work and Peter would still be at his friends’.

“Good boy.”

“You know I am.”

“What are you smiling about? Who are you talking to?” Ned looked suspiciously at him, so he quickly put the phone down and shook his head with a nervous smile.

“Just a subscriber with a bad one-liner.”

MJ looked at him like she knew a secret, but Ned just shrugged and finished setting up the game. They ended up calling it a draw and ordering pizza afterwards, but Peter went back home early because both Ned and MJ had work the next morning.

Once he got upstairs, he went to edit Tony’s pictures and since it was still a little early to send them, he decided to check his twitter DMs. He didn’t read them very often, he already had his plate full with JustForFans, but every once in a while he checked them and answered as many as he could. Most of the messages were dick pics anyway, he just ignored those. Some others were people being nosy and asking way too personal questions, or worse, asking about Beck. He learned how to talk his way around those, but one message in particular stood out and really got to him.

“I’m so glad you’re doing okay, honey! The way Beck is with his new boy now makes me wonder if he ever even loved you. He sure moved on quickly. You’re better off without him anyway, I always liked you better.”

That sort of comment wasn’t exactly unusual, but that second part caught him a little off guard. Makes me wonder if he ever even loved you. It just – why would she say that? The way Beck is with his new boy. What way, exactly? What could he possibly be doing that made that person assume Beck never even loved him? People thought they were perfect together, they said it all the time, so much so that Peter himself was almost convinced of it for most of their relationship, so why in the hell would anyone think he loved this other guy more? To the point of assuming he didn’t even love Peter in the first place?

He was a masochist, he decided, as he opened Instagram. And not even the good kind of masochist, because there wasn’t any pleasure involved in what he was about to do, just pain. He unblocked Beck’s profiled and fucking looked. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but just looking at the first picture was enough to make him realize it was a terrible fucking idea. It was a black and white picture of him and the new guy cuddling in bed, kissing with soft smiles on their faces, captioned: “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Peter closed the app quickly, he didn’t need to see that. It meant nothing.

That picture meant nothing. That caption meant nothing. Because Beck was a fucking liar, a fucking actor, a fucking illusionist, a fucking – artist. He painted beautiful pictures, he weaved beautiful words, but none of that meant anything. Because it never meant anything when it was Peter in his arms, so why would–

Fuck, he should be over him, so fucking over him. But he really wasn’t, he would go back to that toxic environment if Beck snapped his fingers and that was scary to know. It was fucking terrifying to realize he was one text away from crawling back to him, even after all the humiliation, even after Beck just fucking up and left him with nothing – nothing – he would still go right back to his arms. He still wanted to go right back to his arms.

It made him feel pathetic and weak because he knew that what they had was toxic and abusive. And he had known that for a while, way before they split up. Deep in his soul, he knew he was living a nightmare, day after day, over and over again, but he couldn’t fucking leave. He thought Beck was all he had. He promised him forever. He promised he would always be there for him. He was all Peter had in life, and he had lost so fucking much over the years, he couldn’t afford to lose anybody else.

But he did, didn’t he? He lost Beck. He was in someone else’s arms right that second, professing his undying, fake love.

Peter took a deep breath and held it a few seconds, then exhaled slowly.

He didn’t lose anything, he was set free. He was free and he had a record to break – it had been three days since he last cried about that asshole and he didn’t plan to ruin it.

He closed Instagram and went to his Just4Fans. He posted a few pictures from a phoshoot he did earlier that week that made him feel sexy and confident, which was the opposite of how he felt at that moment, but he was going to fake it until he made it.

In a few minutes, he got lots of comments and private messages with compliments, but somehow none of them was enough to fill the empty spot Beck left when he dumped him.

Well, none except for one.

“Were you planning on giving an old man a heart attack today? ‘Cause that’s how you give an old man a heart attack.” The silly message got a smile out of him, and that was a lot considering how broken he felt.

“Lol. It wasn’t in my plans, no, but now I’m worried. Is the old man okay?” He joked, and immediately got an answer in his inbox.

“He’s waiting for you to keep your promise. Says he refuses to die before he sees some pictures of you? Do you happen to know anything about that?” Peter chuckled.

“Oh, yeah, I think I know what he’s talking about. Hold on a sec.”

He selected his ten favorite pictures with the date outfit and sent them to Tony, feeling butterflies in his stomach for reasons he couldn’t explain. He lay in bed for several minutes, staring at his phone, waiting for an answer, but the older man didn’t say anything, even though Peter could see he was still online. He started to get a little anxious, worried that he had messed up somehow, so he messaged him again.

“Well? Have I finally rendered the old man speechless?”

Almost at the same time as he sent his message, Tony replied:

“I need to see you.”

Peter’s heart almost jumped out of his mouth when he read those words, eyes widening in shock. I need to see you. He read it a few more times to make sure it meant what he thought it meant. It couldn’t possibly – Tony wouldn’t want to meet him. That would be absurd. He was – well, Peter wasn’t sure, but he sounded important most of the time, he was definitely very rich, very hardworking and he seemed like a really nice guy. So really, why would he want to meet Peter. That made absolutely no sense, obviously he meant something different than that, he just didn’t quite know what–

“Please,” said the next message, just a few seconds later.

Peter bit his lower lip, feeling his face grow warmer. Just for the hell of it, he thought – what if Tony did mean he wanted to meet him? What then? Peter couldn’t say yes, that would be insane. He didn’t even know the man, all he knew were little things about his daily life, he didn’t know his last name, if he had a family, if he was married, if he was a psychopath – he didn’t even know what he looked like!

Still, he fantasized about saying yes. But that was just a fantasy. He couldn’t do it, that would be crazy.

Right?

“You won’t regret it, I’ll treat you right.”

Well, fuck. He had to go straight for his Achilles’s heel, huh.

Peter kept staring at the bright screen of his phone, breathing slowly to try to contain his wild heart that seemed adamant to burst out of his chest cavity in the next few minutes. He didn’t know what to say. No, his brain supplied, like it was obvious, because it was, right? He couldn’t say yes, yes was not a viable answer. He had to say no, it was only a matter of how he would say it without hurting the older man’s ego.

But.

Why exactly did he have to say no? He knew there were ate least 99 good answers to that question, but he couldn’t think of one, so–

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?” Peter asked, even though he wasn’t really worried about that, it was the last thing on his mind, to be honest.

“You’ll know.” He said, plain and simple, and not helpful at all. And still, no flight response whatsoever from Peter’s brain. His stupid mind couldn’t seem to understand that that was clearly a terrible idea.“We’ll meet in a restaurant, the best in New York, and nothing else has to happen, I promise. We’ll have a nice dinner and that’s it. I just need to see you in person.”

That sounded reasonable, didn’t it? A public place, lots of eyes on them. If Tony turned out to be a creep, he could just leave. At the very worst, he’d be disappointed and lose a very generous subscriber; at the very best, he’d get a good meal out of it and who knew what else. It sounded reasonable. So it was probably reasonable.

Right?

“Can I wear this outfit?” He asked, because, well, that was all he had to wear to New York City’s best restaurant – whatever that was.

“You must, baby.” He answered quickly, and Peter smiled to himself. “So I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

He typed a quick yes, but didn’t send it right away. He gave his brain a few seconds to come up with reasons to say no, because he knew there were good reasons for that, but he really, honestly, just wanted to say–

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” He replied right away, as if he had been staring at the phone, waiting for his answer. “I’ll set a time and place and let you know. You won’t regret it, Peter.”

Peter loved all the pet names Tony gave him, they were all sweet and funny, but when he called him by his actual name, it just hit different. It felt good. Like he wasn’t just a pretty picture in a porn app, an expensive hobby, but a person. It was hard for him to remember that, sometimes.

Some other times, it felt good to forget.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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miss-authorcita · 3 years

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A/N: So, I'm obsessed (once again) with Taylor's Fearless album and I've decided to write one shots of each of the songs. They probably won't be that good cause I'm literally just writing them down and posting them. (No spellcheck, no beta reader, no nothing) I just wanna get back to writing and this came to mind.

SUMMARY: It's been almost 2 years since Civil War. You and Steve have grown closer while on the run, but you can't help missing the roller coaster love you and Tony shared. (Inspired by: That's The Way I Loved You)

I was sitting by the window of my ratty Motel room, simply staring at the wet cobblestones of the empty street barely lit up by two lamp lights. My thoughts kept drowning me, it was a new thing with me when I was alone. I made so many mistakes in my life and now the solitude seemed to bring them all to the forefront of my mind.

A knock brought me out of my stupor and I was instantly in alert, gun out of its holster and aiming towards the door.

"Y/N, it's me and Nat." Steve's voice was heard muffled by the wood.

I relaxed, letting my shoulders fall. I reholstered my gun and unlocked the door, letting both of them step into my room. As soon as I locked the door behind them Steve pulled me by the waist and kissed me. Just a quick peck. I blushed and stepped away.

"I got you something." He smiled and pulled out a packet of skittles from his pocket.

I couldn't help, but smile. "I haven't had these in years not since..." I trailed off not wanting to mention his name.

Steve nodded and kissed my forehead.

"I have to stop by Wanda's and Sam's just to check in. I'll be back later tonight, alright?"

I nodded still staring at the bag of skittles in my hand. Steve opened the door and waited for Nat to walk by first. She stopped beside me and squeezed my forearm making me look up. She gave me her signature side smirk. She always voiced her support. She was mine and Steve's biggest shipper.

After the two of them left, I waited till I couldn't hear their footsteps anymore before collapse on the bed. Once again, while in solitude, I let the memories of my mistakes flood my mind.

It was a few hours later when Steve knocked on my door again. I opened and stepped to the side to let him in. He locked up and once again pulled me towards him by my waist. This time he just holds me.

"I know this life is hard. I know how hard...how difficult leaving was..." He's hesitant with his words, always sensible and caring of my feelings.

I just nod, unable to use words, afraid I'll just start sobbing.

"You know I'm doing everything I can to make this as easy for you as possible, right?"

I pull back and stare up at him. I let my hand caress his bearded jaw as I look deep into his blue eyes. "I know, Steve and I appreciate it so much" I whisper and stand on my tip toes to kiss him.

I fall asleep in his arms that night like many before and again like many times before we have to leave suddenly. Sam is the one to wake us, urgently banging on the door. We'd been tracked and we needed to move out quickly. All of us are out of the building in less that 15 minutes. We head to our cars and Steve opens up my door, helping me step in like a true gentleman.

"You look beautiful tonight." He says with a grin and I roll my eyes with a chuckle and close the door. He jogs to the driver side, and we're all off to find our next hideout.

The ride is long and before I know it I've fallen asleep.

"Tony!" I yell as soon as the elevator doors open. "Tony Stark!" I shout once again.

"What!? What!? Why are you shouting?" He asks, coming out of the kitchen. His hair is wet , he's wearing a black tank top and sweats and holding a bag of chips.

"Why am I shouting!? Have you seen the news!?" I yell again. His confused face only makes me madder. The rage is building like the rain and thunder outside like it's mimicking my mood.

"I was showering...so no?" He smiles and that is the last straw. I explode, my voice basically shrill.

"All the news channels are showing the explosion! The one of the building you and the Avengers were in! They don't show you guys coming out of it! I called Tony!"

"Sweetheart, I'm fine. I'm alive." He says like my tone isn't a very obvious clue to my state of mind.

"You didn't answer when I called! You what? Came home, showered and were gonna eat fucking chips! Did you even think to let me know you were okay!?" I couldn't seem to lower my voice even if I wanted to. I was so upset.

"I was gonna call you as soon as I sat on the couch." He excuses.

"Fuck you, Tony Stark!" I hissed and started walking to the elevator to leave.

"Friday close access to the elevators." Tony said as he made his way towards me. I dodged him and made my way to the doors that led to the hall.

"Friday if you could, please." At his command the padlock turned red, obviously meaning they would not open, at least not for me.

We stood a few feet apart, me glaring and him smirking. I must've lost my mind that night because I looked out towards his Ironman platform and made a run for it. He followed me out, both of us instantly soaked by the rain. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to face him.

"Are you insane!? What was your plan!? To jump off of the building!?" He yelled over the roar of the rain.

"You're the one who locked all other exits."

"I was bloodied, bruised and covered in soot and cement and dust, okay!?" His change of tactic threw me.

"What?" My eyes were wide. This whole conversation was an unpredictable rollercoaster.

"That's why I didn't call you. I...didn't want to scare you. I don't want you to worry eveytime I go save the world...So I came here, hid the suit, cleaned up and then I was going to call you."

"I always worry about you, Tony."

He sighed and looked away from me. I'd always known his fear. He lost Pepper because she couldn't handle his Ironman life, so he tried to keep me out of the loop thinking he was helping, but it wasn't.

I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him. "Call me. It helps me to know how you are. Even if you're bleeding out." I said locking eyes with him

He chuckled. "I'll be sure to do that. I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, you insufferable man."

And with a laugh he kissed me in the rain at 2am we were so in love back then.

"We're here." Steve's voice roused me up from my dream, or more like memory.

"Where is he? I mean 'here.' Where is here?" I ask still groggy.

"One of Nat's safe houses." Steve fills in and starts unloading the car.

I'm not sure if it was the dream, but the memory of Tony crushed my mood. Steve must've noticed my shift because he asked if I wanted to sleep alone tonight and I agreed. They're so different that sometimes it's shocking to me. Steve respects my space, Tony was always there even when I didn't want him to, but always needed. Steve has never made me wait, Tony was known for being late. I started telling him the wrong time to try and trick him into arriving on time. They're opposites. Steve gets along so well with Nat who is basically my sister, while her and Tony were never the best of friends. Steve is just charming and endearing and even while being on the run for almost 2 years he's managed to make me feel comfortable. But I can't help it, I miss Tony.

It's while sitting on my bed alone, opening my bag of skittles that the tears come as I remember him. I fall asleep, sobbing that night.

I had been sitting in the couch for an hour. Dressed amazing if I may add. Heels and everything which I hated and he wasn't here. He was always so late and I was more than frustrated. I heard the elevator doors open and I didn't even glance. I was gonna strangle the man.

"I know I'm late. I'm sorry, I was--"

I interrupted his apology "Let me guess, you got tied up in the lab? Again."

"Actually no."

His answer suprised me and I turned to glare at him, but my eyes widened when I saw him holding a huge jar full of red skittles.

"W-what is that?"

He smiled and walked closer to me, setting the jar on the table next to the couch.

"I know you only like eating the red ones so ta-da."

I laughed. "Are these the reason you were late or are these a gift to make up for being late?"

"A little bit of both? I forgot to pick the order up earlier today...cause I got tied up at the lab...so I went to pick them up after and that's why I'm late."

I sighed and kissed him. "You drive me insane."

"But that's the way you love me." He teased.

I nodded and kissed him. That's the way I loved him.

As I sit outside with Steve, leaning on his chest, I can't help but wonder if he knows. My smiles aren't real, and I've gone numb over the months. I barely feel anything anymore. The numbness worsened after we started whatever this is. Steve has always been looking for someone to fill the emptiness since Peggy and conveniently I needed a balm for the pain of losing Tony. We weren't in love, or at least I hoped he didn't love me...because my heart doesn't feel anything anymore.

"You're...you're siding with him?" The crack in his voice made me wince.

"Tony, I can't sign the Accords."

"Why not!?"

"You know what being under the governments control has done to me!" He knew of my past, of the millions of tests I was subjected to, the betrayal, the rules that were only there to hurt me. I'd confided in him every dark moment.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We need to be held accountable." He repeated to me what he'd said at the conference room.

"I know, but not like this. Tony--" I went to touch him and he flinched away. That simple move broke my heart.

"If you side with him, it'll break us."

"Tony..."

He locked eyes with me, begging me to stay, but I didn't. I couldn't and I lost him.

I had decided that morning that I needed to talk to Steve. He was my friend before we became anything more and even if it meant making our runaways situation awkward, I needed to be honest with him. I couldn't keep sleeping wrapped in his arms. He needed to know that my heart belonged to Tony. He needed to know that I spent my days dreaming up plans of how I could see him without getting arrested. He needed to know that I looked for him in every person we passed by. He needed to know...or at least I needed to tell someone. I took a deep breath and started walking towards him when a ring broke the peaceful morning silence.

He looked at the number on his burner phone before locking eyes with me. "It's Tony."

#tony stark x reader #tony x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #tony stark imagine #ironman x reader #ironman imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #post civil war

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years

Text

Betty//tell me something nice, like flowers and blue skies

Request: Can I request a Reader/Betty with the song I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend by Girl In Red, maybe reader pines over Betty how she pines over Archie

hey! before i ramble trigger warning: i don’t really know how to describe it, so there’s like a nightmare bit and people aren’t really nice about the reader being gay, so if that upsets you don’t read. anyway! it’s loving women hours (when is it not?) as i’m writing this its october, so it’s officially girl in red season! happy holidays gays!

Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews and Y/n L/l/n. The three musketeers of Riverdale. Wherever one of them went, the other two followed.

You have lived next door to each other, since before any of you were even born. Your moms went to baby classes together, your dads let you play in the back yard while the three of them enjoyed a beer. There was never a day that at least two of you weren’t together.

Every birthday party was spent showing presents off and eating far too much cake. And every weekend sleepover was spent giggling way into the night and eating junk food, only to be told off by one of your moms. You would plan countless pranks that Polly would always be on the receiving end of, and then when the three of you were inevitably grounded for ruining another thing of hers, you’d hang out of your bedroom windows to wave at each other.

As the three of you grew older, your parents thought you would grow apart. All three of you developed new interests and personalities, but despite everything you stuck together. Promising to go through High School by each others side.

But then disaster struck. Hormones got the better of one of you and suddenly Betty was pining over Archie. Which was bad news for all three of you.

Because while Archie was all Betty wanted, he wanted everybody but her. He even tried it on with you once, it ended awfully and you both vowed never to speak of it ever again.

You don’t know how many hours you’ve spent sat on her bed while she watched Archie from her bedroom window, despite you telling her how creepy it is.

At first it was kind of boring. You just watched her, watch him and then you’d listen to her mope, tell her he’ll realize soon and then go home. But then it stopped being boring and something shifted. You found it more hurtful?

Like whenever she would talk about him in that lovestruck tone, it felt like your something twisting your lungs. You found yourself stuttering over your words when she talked to you. Your cheeks would heat up whenever she was in close proximity of you, and if she touched you, even if it was just a light graze of her fingers over your own, your mind would go blank and busy all at once.

You found yourself sneaking glances at her whenever she wasn’t looking, or trying your hardest to make her laugh, even if it meant making yourself look like an idiot. She was the last thing you thought of when you went to sleep, the first thing you thought of when you woke up and she was every other thought in between.

The littlest of interactions between you had you overthinking. What did that smile mean? Why did she ask just you to hang out and not Archie too? Is she trying to tell you something? Was that goodbye wave just a goodbye wave or was it something else? And that goodnight text? Was there a tone to it?

It was only when she rang you at 2am to ask you what you thought Archie meant by ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’, did you realize.

You’d fallen for your very straight best friend.

fuck

Nobody knew you were into girls. Not even you were aware of it until her.

Until she made you look forward to going to school because that meant you’d get to see her. Until she made you feel like the most important girl in the world when she smiled at you. Until she made butterflies swarm in your stomach whenever she so much as looked at you.

But she always talked to Archie before you first thing in the morning. She always smiled brighter at Archie, and she always looked away far too soon.

Even if had beed years since she’s first fallen for him and she’s dated Jughead in between. You could tell there was still something there between them.

Just look at me the same

Riverdale is a small town, people talk and people judge. So for now, you’ll stay in the very comfy closet your in.

You’re graduating soon so you just have to keep in a secret for another four months. That’s totally do-able.

But then again you and Betty have applied for the same college’s so who knows what going to happen then. Maybe you’ll find a girl there that you’ll fall for.

But there’s nobody like Betty Cooper.

There never was and there never will be.

She’s the only good thing to come out of this place. Even after everything she’s been through, they’re usually things you’ve also been dragged into by either her or Archie, but she always comes out the other side stronger.

She’s a force to be reckoned with.

She’s wonderful.

If you tell people that you were into woman, then there’s a chance that Betty might find out you like her and you definitely don’t want that.

So you’ll continue secretly pining and looking way too much into things.

You’ll continue to listen to her talk about Archie or Jughead or whoever she likes this week, in exactly the same way you think about her.

You’ll lie next to her at Friday night sleepovers and try to keep your breathing normal as she cuddles into the side of you. You’ll stop yourself brushing hair from her face, from stroking her arm gently and from pressing gentle kisses to her head.

You stop yourself from doing all of those things and just lie there. Letting the darkness envelop you as she snores softly beside you. And when you eventually fall asleep she’s there too, but something’s off.

She’s looking at you all wrong. Everybody is. They’re looking at you like you’ve done something wrong. Archie and Betty stand hand in hand, and they glare at you. The world around you twists and warps, you try and get closer to them, to ask whats wrong but they just keep jumping further and further away. And then she tells you, she knows. She knows everything, about the way you feel, how you think of her and she’s looking at you like you’re a stranger. They all are and the world becomes tighter around you and its getting harder and harder to breath an-

“Y/n?!”

You eyes snap open and you sit upright, gasping for breath.

Betty stares at you, eyes full of panic as she moves to sit in front of you. She flicks the lamp on as she moves and the room is flooded in a soft orange glow. The duvet bunches around you and she moves it down to allow you to breathe and cool down.

“Breathe. You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” She says, her voice firm but soothing. Her hands rest on your shoulders and you force yourself to nod, and slowly start to breathe properly. “Are you okay?” She asks, her voice now a lot less panicked and a wave of embarrassment rolls over you.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Just a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She lies back down and you follow apprehensively.

“No thanks.” You mumble and move your pillow.

In times like this its good that you have shared trauma. It means if you get bad dreams about your best friend finding out you like her, thats not the first thing she assumes.

She probably thinks its got to do with the Gargoyle King, or that night you were hunted through the woods. Or when you went to Lodge’s Lodge and got robbed. Veronica had insisted that it was couple’s only but Betty had fought for you to come. Saying that if her and Archie were both away you’d be alone. Plus, the three of you come as package. You want one, you get all of them.

You shuffle backwards towards the wall, trying to put as much space between the two of you as you possibly can. She doesn’t seem to get your hint and just moves closer to you, slinging her arm over your waist and you feel goosebumps rise over your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut but the dark and distorted world you were previously trapped in plays behind your eyes like a really bad horror movie and so they snap open again.

You hold in a gasp once you notice how close she is to your, your foreheads barely touching, her blonde hair sprawled out on the pillow and the ends tickle your face.

“You okay?” She mumbles and opens an eyelid to look at you.

“I just don’t think I can sleep right now.” You reply causing her to frown and look at you properly. She props her head up with her head and her hair falls around her face as she angles her head to look at you properly.

You want to kiss her.

She’s right there so you could. She’s lying in front of you and she’s giving you a look you’ve never seen directed at you before.

You could just lean up and kiss her. You wonder if it will feel like how you’ve imagined. If her lips are as soft as they look and if you’ll still be able to feel them long after you’ve stopped. If the feeling will engrain itself into your memory, becoming impossible to forget. If her hands will hold your own or if they’ll settle on your cheek or in your hair. Will she be cautious as she kisses you or will it be the most sure she’s ever felt about something?

You want to kiss her until you lose your breath.

You want to get lost in her and for her to get lost in you. Until this is the only thing either of you know.

“Tell me something nice.”

“Like Archie’s hair today. Because it was really nice. I think he spent a little longer on it today but it was worth it. It looked very soft...very ginger.”

“No.” You laugh.

She’s gone back to Archie for this week and even if it does hurt, its a little comforting. It reminds you of when she first went on like this, you were unaware of your feelings then. You were just hanging out with your friend while she pined for your other one. There was no feelings to mess it up, at least not on your end.

Now you’re almost three years into this and there’s been more complicated emotions and plot twists than a teen drama. More moping than a Smiths song.

The internet is obsessed with the mutual pining trope, it’s romanticized beyond belief. And in a way you’re in one, the only problem is she’s pining for the wrong person, maybe so are you.

“Like flowers and blue skies.” You add after a few seconds of silence and a soft smile settles on her face.

“Okay. Come here.” She stretches her arms out towards you and you reluctantly shuffle towards her.

She squeezes you tightly before lying back down properly, her arms are wrapped around you and her chin rests on your head. You feel the steady beat of her heart and you hope she can’t feel your erratic one.

“Can you remember last Christmas?” She asks and you hum in agreement. “It was Christmas day, me, you and Archie got together in Archie’s backyard to do our annual present swap. It was freezing, but the sky was the bluest it had been for months. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and the sun was brighter than the previous summers.”

“It had been snowing.” You reply. “And we threw snowballs at Archie.”

“Yeah.” She laughs. “Archie threw one back, but it was more ice than snow and it hit me right on the nose.”

“I thought he’d broken your nose with the amount of blood.” You laugh.

“You took me home and made sure I was okay.”

“Of course I did.” You mumble, your voice sleepy. “I’d do anything for you.” You add, your voice muffled by a yawn.

“What?” She asks but you shake your head.

“Nothing.” You reply. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your mom so confused.”

“So would you be if your kid and her friend were stood on the porch, one of them with blood pouring out of their nose and the other with blue lips almost the same shade as the sky.”

“Fair enough.” You laugh. “Hey, what are you getting for Archie for Christmas this year?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “What about you?”

“I dunno, thats why I was asking you.” You reply and the two of you giggle quietly. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“A boyfriend.”

“Gross.” You mumble and she looks at you annoyed.

“What do you mean gross?”

“I mean...gross.”

“Shut up. You’ll understand when you get a boyfriend.”

“I highly doubt thats gonna happen.” You mutter making her frown and move to look at you.

“Don’t think like that.” She cups your cheeks in her hands and you feel your face heating up under the intensity of her stare. “You are so pretty. You’re the prettiest girl I know. Any boy would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, okay.” You snort and she sends you a look but decides not to say anything.

“Do you like anybody at the minute?” She asks, her chin resting back on your head and your breath hitches as you try and figure out the best way around this. It’s too late though, she heard you and now she’s staring at you wide-eyed with a bright grin on her face. “Oh my God. You do. You so like someone.”

“No, I er. No I don’-”

“Who is it. You have to tell me. I tell you everybody that I like.”

“I know.” You mumble making her glare at you.

“Please. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Do I know them?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“Okay, So I know them.”

“But I just said you didn’t.”

“I know. But I can tell when you’re lying. We’ve been friends for 18 years, I know all your tells.” She says.

A lump sits in your throat and you try your hardest to swallow it.

fuck

“So I know them?”

“No.” You sigh and lie down properly. “There’s no point in trying to guess because I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Why not?” She pouts and flops beside you, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Because. Plus, there’s no point in telling anyone because they don’t like me back.”

“How do you know? Have you asked them?”

“No, bu-”

“So how do you know?”

“Because I’m really not their type.” You say. It’s more to yourself than to her but neither of you seem to get the hint.

“You never know.” She argues.

“Believe me I do. So can we just drop this and go to sleep.” You snap.

Her happy expression disappears as she looks at her hands and you feel your chest tighten.

“Yeah sorry.” She whispers.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“Its fine.” She shakes her head and turns to look at you.“I shouldn’t have pushed it. But before I drop it forever, for the record, whoever it is is an idiot for not liking you.” She says sincerely and you send her a small smile.

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, and your sure her gaze drops to your lips for a split second. But then you hear a bang on the bedroom door followed by her mom telling you to go to sleep and the moment, whatever it was, is gone. She drops your gaze and turns around, pulling the blanket all the way up to her chin.

You watch her turn, continuing to stare at her back before you sigh and face the other way.

You’re both stuck in the same place but you want to follow different paths.

You both know what its like to be a friend but want something more. The different is that she’s more likely to get what she wants. A boy can start to like his best friend, but you can’t turn a straight girl gay.

That knowledge weighs you down over the weekend. You, Betty, Archie, Jughead and Veronica hang out at Pops on Saturday. And even though you and Betty were the first one’s there, you somehow end up stuck on the end, forced to borrow a chair from someone else’s table.

Betty and Archie sit next to each other and laugh over inside jokes and their shared dislike of one of the new kids. Veronica and Jughead sit beside each other in an awkward silence. Every ten minutes one of them will try and desperately think of something that have in common but it never works.

And you?

You sit on the end with nothing to do and no one to talk to. So you leave early, muttering a small goodbye before rushing out of the diner. Veronica and Jughead mumble a small goodbye, and an hour later they come up with an excuse as to why they also need to leave.

But Betty and Archie don’t notice. They don’t notice you’ve gone until Jughead says goodbye an hour later.

They stay for a bit longer talking about stories from when they were younger, their plans for the rest of the weekend and whether they’ve done the homework for Miss Fireworth.

But something is missing. They both feel it, Betty more than Archie.

It settles in her bones, a feeling of loneliness. It’s only when Archie starts talking about if she thinks if Veronica would give him another chance does she realize it.

Of course! How could she have not seen it before It’s obvious. It was right in front of her this whole time and she’s only not just realized.

“Archie, I’ve got to go.” She says quickly, grabbing her bag and shuffling past him.

She feels terrible, all of these years you’ve been feeling like this and she’s been so oblivious. So inconsiderate. She’s the worst. But she’s going to make it right, she’s going to try her best to anyway.

“Okay.” He calls after her, she’s already out of the door by the time he replies and he watches her walk quickly out of the parking lot.

It takes her ten minutes to walk to your house and as soon as she runs up the steps of the porch she’s knocking loudly on the door. She moves from foot to foot, the excitement rising as she waits for you to answer the door.

The door swings open and your brows furrow once you see who it is. But before you have the chance to ask why she’s here, she’s already speaking.

“You like Archie?”

“What? No!” You exclaim and she raises an eyebrow.

“Its okay if you do. I actually think you guys would be really cute together.” She reassures you and you stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“I don’t like Archie.” You repeat but she’s having none of it, waving her arm around before continuing to talk.

“But you do though. I understand now. All of these years I’ve been pining over him and you also liked him. And you listened to me and comforted me like the great friend you are and I just let you. I didn’t even think that you could like him. But it makes so much sense now.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.” She huffs. “I’m sorry I was an idiot.”

“Its okay?”

“So you do like him? How long for?” She wonders, shrugging her jacket off as she walks past you.

You know you shouldn’t. You know this is going to end badly for everyone involved, but you do it anyway. You play along, at least if she thinks you like Archie, she won’t suspect herself.

“About three years.” You shrug and she stares at you in shock.

“That long?” She says.

“Yep.”

“How do you know you aren’t his type?” She wonders, remembering the conversation you had last night.

“I just do. I mean, look at his track record, and then look at me. Nothing alike.”

“Thats good though!” She replies. “Nobody wants to date someone exactly the same as their ex.”

You are very different to her ex’s, that is true.

“Not this different though.” You shrug. “Its fine though. I’m used to it. Now, do you want to watch a movie tonight?” You ask, sitting down on the sofa.

“Yeah, sure.” She replies, not really sure what to do. She sits beside you and looks around the living room, hoping the right words to say will find her. There’s something else to this, she knows there is. She just can’t quite figure out what it is. “Y/n?” She asks and reaches out to hold your hand. Her touch is gentle, almost cautious and you’re dreading whatever is going to come out of her mouth next. “Are you sure thats it?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, dropping her hand. Hurt flashes through her eyes and she pulls her hand back, placing it on her thigh.

The feeling of her hand went from light to heavy awfully quickly, and you want to touch her, but not like this. Not in this situation. She’s looking at you.

When she looks at you usually, it’s gives you a feeling you can’t describe. But the way she’s looking at you now makes you want to shrink.

“Do you like Archie?” She repeats.

“No.” You breathe and she sighs.

You can see her trying to figure it out. Trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together and you know she’s going to work it out. You stare at her with bated breath and watches as she stares at the blank television.

“I er, I’ve got a few things to do so, I’ll see you later.” You try but she just continues to look ahead.

The walls close in on you, it’s only a matter of time. She’s going to figure it out and she’s going to hate you and everything is going to be ruined.

“I’m sorry.” You cry quietly and she looks at you confused.

She’s beside you in an instant, wrapping her arms around you and your bury your head in her chest.

“I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t meant to and I wasn’t gonna tell you. I didn’t want to ruin anything between us because you’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Do you like me?” She asks, her voice remaining calm as she moves away to look at you.

“Yeah.” You mumble and stare at the grey fabric of the sofa. “I’m sorry.” Your force yourself to look at her.

She wipes the palms of her hands on her jeans, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. You stare at her in confusion, wondering what she’s doing and why she hasn’t shouted at you and left yet. But then her hands cup your cheeks and she leans in, kissing you softly.

It’s slow at first, both of you unsure of what’s happening. But it doesn’t make any less perfect. It doesn’t stop your cheeks from heating up, or your heartbeat from going haywire and it doesn’t stop all cohesive thoughts from falling out of your head.

She pulls away quickly, and both of you looked at each other shocked.

“I’m sorry.” She says quickly and stands.

“No, no. It’s fine.” You reply, copying her movements. You follow her to the door, despite your entire body screaming at you to not let her leave. You don’t think you can handle watching her walk away.

You’ve wanted that kiss for three years. You’d built it up in your head so much, but now its happened and she’s running away and this is nothing like you thought it would be.

The kiss was perfect.

This is a nightmare.

“Y/n. I’m sorry.” She says, finally looking at you.

She’s holding on to her bag so tightly her knuckles have turned white, she glances at the door behind her and points awkwardly at it.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah, okay.” She turns around and you will yourself not to cry. She can’t see you cry, not over her anyway.

“Bye.” She says quickly and walks through the front door.

“Bye.” You reply, closing the door before she even has a chance to turn around.

A shaky breath escapes your lips and you can’t stop the tears anymore. They keep coming, running down your face like sad little waterfalls. Your hands shake, your head hurts and your chest tightens.

You’ve just watched your best friend and the woman you’re in love with run away after kissing you.

Nothing is going to fix this.

Well one thing will.

“Y/n.” Betty is shouting outside, banging on the door louder than she ever has and you quickly swing the door open, revealing her tear stained face. “I’m so sorry.” She apologizes.

Within seconds she’s stepped over the threshold, her arms hold you waist and pulls you tight to her. She kisses you desperately and messily, with teeth clashing and tears mixing together.

But she doesn’t want it any other way.

And neither do you.

“Y/n?” She asks between kisses and you nod in reply. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Okay.” You pull away to look at her.

Her hands are still wrapped around you, but yours drops from from her cheeks, now worried that all of this has been some sort of trick.

“I wanna be your girlfriend.”

#betty cooper #betty cooper imagine #betty cooper x reader #betty cooper x you #betty cooper x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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quiteaweirdworld · 4 years

Text

Eastside- JJ x Reader

(not my gif)

snapshots of your life growing up with JJ always by your side

Requested: nope (send me requests!!)

Inspired: the ask from @yellowclara for a Halsey fic, I wrote one with @spilledtee (go check it out) and also wanted to write my own

Warnings: none!

Contains: fluff, soft JJ, growing up

Words: 1.6K

When I was young, I fell in love

We used to hold hands, man, that was enough

You and JJ had been friends since third grade, the same year that he met John B. You remember meeting him at recess, when the boys were playing kickball. He was a scrawny little thing, with messy blonde hair and a loud voice that everyone listened to. You were the only girl who wanted to join in, and were getting a hard time for it. The girls were turning up their noses at the dirt and the boys were all saying how you couldn’t be any good. JJ finally called out

“Let her have a shot, and if she makes it around, she can play”

You made it all the way around, and JJ grabbed your hand and held it up in celebration. After school he came up and introduced himself and John B, and ever since then, it was you and the boys. When Pope later joined the group he also became part of your little family, but you were always closest with JJ. Although he didn’t tell you then, that was when JJ fell in love with you, the little girl who wasn’t afraid to be with the boys and go for what she wants.

Then we grew up, started to touch

Used to kiss underneath the light on the back of the bus

When middle school came around and he grew so much that he was now a good four inches taller than you, he became more protective of you as well. You never grew out of your tom-boy ways but JJ didn’t seem to mind.

Your most clear memory was a trip to the beach in eigth grade. Your entire class rode the bus from school to the beach, even though some of you, like you, JJ, and John B, spent more time at the beach anyway. When you got there, most of the girls went straight to the sun to tan and sit around but you were most excited to hang with the boys in the waves. After spending all morning teaming up with JJ to splash John B (Pope declared himself neutral), you headed into shore for lunch. As you were getting your coke, one of the girls spilled theirs on you, saying

“Oops! But it’s ok, boys like to get messy anyway”

You were mortified, just because you didn’t like girly things didn’t make you any less of a girl. Before you could fully react, JJ poured his own water on the girl with an

“Oops! But it’s ok, you’re at the beach anyway” and tucked you under his arm. When you got back to the group you started to move away but his strong arm around you didn’t let you. You spent the rest of the trip pressed against his side, and right before you were about to leave you felt a tug at your arm while JJ led you around a corner.

“JJ, wh-” you started but he cut you off with a tiny kiss, your first kiss. He stepped back and looked at you with those big blue eyes and blushed as he was nervous, but you reassured him that there was nothing wrong when you tucked yourself back into his chest and smiled. If he made Pope sit with John B in front of you two so you could go for a small second kiss on the bus on the way back, that’s a different story.

I know your daddy didn't like me much

And he didn't believe me when I said you were the one

Oh, every day, she found a way out of the window to sneak out late

Your dad was never the biggest fan of JJ, and it only got worse once you started dating after that beach day. It wasn’t that you were a kook, in fact you were far from it and your family definitely understood the struggle of being a pogue, it’s that your dad wanted more for you. Like Pope’s dad, your dad wanted you to have a bright future and thought that JJ would stand in the way of that.

You didn’t care.

You always found a way to hang out with your group, and once Kiara joined the summer after eighth grade you were happy to have another girl. Kiara was always the pretty girl, the one who acted like the other girls and wore girly tops. You were always a bit self conscious that Kiara was prettier than you, but JJ said that he liked it when you wore his shirts so you taught yourself not to care anymore.

When you slipped out your window and ran to your spot on the beach every weekend, JJ greeted you with a soft

“Hey Y/N”. You weren’t ones for pet names, leaving that for John B and whichever girl he had his eye on that week, but you showed your affection with little casual touches, with his hand in yours or your head tucked into his chest. You were still a lot shorter than him, but had to admit you didn’t mind because it was that much better for cuddling. Your group wasn’t partying yet, but would always sit a bit away on the beach and watch, ready for when it was your turn to party throughout the night.

My love is yours if you're willing to take it

Give me your heart 'cause I ain't gonna break it

The first time you said “I love you” to JJ, it was the first week of ninth grade.

Kiara was at Kook Academy and that left you without any girl friends. You had been picked on all week for hanging out with the boys and though you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wished the names didn’t hurt so much. It was Friday afternoon, and you just got out of English, the only class you didn’t have with JJ. You had heard whispering behind you all class about how it was a shame that you had to hang out with the boys because none of the girls liked you. Although you’d take hanging out with your boyfriend over those fake girls anyway, you still had to focus so hard on not crying that you ran right into him. JJ took one look at your face and signalled to John B that he had to go, and walked with you all the way past your house and back to the beach.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and you quickly explained all your insecurities about how you’re bad at being a girl, and everyone hated you for it.

“Y/N, I don’t care if you’re bad at being a girl, because you’re great at being my girl”

You laughed at that, and looked up into his blue eyes.

“I love you” you whispered

He froze, looking at you

“I love you too”

So come away, starting today

Start a new life together in a different place

The summer after ninth grade, you all had to get new jobs. Kiara was still working at her folk’s restaurant, but you joined the boys in delivering for Heyward. You worked well with the boys, them carrying everything and you actually being the face of the delivery because you always got the best tips. JJ always bragged that his girl was the best saleswomen in the world, before pulling you in close. At the end of every long day you always ended up at that beach where you shared so many moments together. You were finally old enough to join the parties, and were always up for dancing with JJ. One night as you were both drunk and sitting in your spot a little ways up the beach, he whispered in your ear

“You and me, always” “Always” you promised back.

It was like something new had sparked that night on the beach. You started looking at JJ differently, and imagining your life with him forever. You quite liked the visions that you came up with, and spent the rest of the year envisioning a life together with JJ.

Seventeen and we got a dream to have a family

A house, and everything in between

Even though every adult since eighth grade had told you that your relationship probably wouldn’t last, you and JJ were still going strong Senior year. You were his comfort when things got rough with his dad, and he always protected you from any harsh words flung your way.

One night at 2am, you woke up to something knocking at your window. You saw that it was JJ, and hurriedly unlocked it so he could tumble in. “JJ, what happened?” you asked as you saw his face purple with bruises.

He started crying, one of the few times he ever cried in front of you, and you quickly wrapped him in your arms. This was your JJ, your strong boy who had protected you for five years and who always made you feel better. You did the same for him, rocking slightly as he cried against your neck, whispering promises of the future where nothing bad could ever happen. You were listing all of your promises, and were describing your future house in a calm voice when he calmed down.

“You and me, always?” he asked? “Always”, you reassured.

And so it was.

#here it is!#so much #fluff #i hope y'all like this #obx #outer banks #jj #jj maybank #jj imagine #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #outer banks imagine #this makes me realize how lonely I am #:)#halsey #i love halsey so much #eastside

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electrictoes · 3 years

Text

Closer Than We Are

For @dailysvu's Amanda Rollins Week

Day 4: Cuddling Characters: Amanda Rollins, Sonny Carisi, Jesse Rollins. Guest Appearances: Olivia Benson, Kat Tamin, Billie Rollins, Noah Porter Benson Relationship: Amanda Rollins / Sonny Carisi Warnings: None

Read on AO3

The first time that Amanda found herself cuddled up with Sonny it was almost 4am, and they were both exhausted.

Jesse had been teething and Amanda had barely slept all week, so when Sonny had offered to come over and cook dinner she’d gratefully accepted - just the thought of someone else being in the apartment with her was enough, the fact that he was also going to provide food that didn’t come from a packet was an added bonus.

They’d had a few late nights at work that week - Sonny and Fin had born the brunt, covering for Amanda so that she could spend time with Jesse, however little rest that actually gave her - so he was tired too, but when Jesse had started screaming after dinner Sonny had told Amanda to stay where she was sitting half asleep on the couch.

She watched bleary eyed as he brought Jesse out of her bedroom and into the living room, her screams subsiding briefly as she mouthed at the knuckle of his index finger; he was holding Jesse against his chest with his left hand while she chewed on his right and Amanda watched as he paced the room with her, trying to keep her calm and soothe her back to sleep. Amanda was grateful for his help; she was doing better than she herself would've predicted at this mom thing, but having another pair of hands never hurt. Jesse eventually settled against him and he carefully carried her back to her crib before joining Amanda on the couch.

They talked a little, but mostly they sat in a companionable silence, watching sitcom reruns from opposite ends of the couch. Jesse was back up an hour later, and when Amanda eventually settled her again and came back to the living room Sonny’s eyes were closed; his head tilted back against the couch cushions. “Carisi, you don’t have to stay.”

“Nah,” he said, opening his eyes again, “It’s fine, I think you’re in for a rough night, I wanna help.”

Amanda sighed, “You don’t have to.”

“She’s my goddaughter,” he said, as though spending his Friday night listening to Jesse’s cries was part of the job description.

Amanda didn’t know how many times they had been up and down with Jesse by the time the clock ticked over to 2am, but she had begun to move past exhaustion. Sonny was back to pacing the room, Jesse drooling over his shoulder as she cried, Sonny rubbing gentle circles on her back, singing off-key lullabies. “Rollins, I’ve got her - go to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Amanda protested; he shook his head but he didn’t argue.

When Jesse drifted off against his chest, he carefully sat down on the couch again, his hand on the back of her little head as she slept fitfully; Amanda watched Jesse move with the rise and fall of his chest, and she reached out to stroke Jesse’s cheek, to rest her fingertips on her daughter’s back.

The next thing she knew, Jesse was wailing again; Amanda blinked open her eyes and found her arms had wound around Sonny as well as Jesse; he was awake too - no one in a five block radius was sleeping through Jesse’s howls - but he didn’t pull away from her; he just smiled a tired smile over the top of Jesse’s head. Amanda didn’t move away either; she didn’t have the energy.

Sonny gently shushed Jesse, whispering to her; he lifted her carefully, moving her so that she was facing Amanda, and they sat there in the dim light of the TV, Amanda’s eyes on her baby girl, one arm still slung along Sonny’s torso, her head resting on his shoulder as Jesse reached out, touching a tiny hand to Amanda’s face, her whimpers dying down as exhaustion took her again.

Dinner and bad TV had kind of become a weekly tradition - sometimes Sonny would cook for them, and some nights, when they were both worn down by a difficult week at work, they would order pizza and the three of would them flop down onto the couch, Jesse between Amanda and Sonny, and they would watch cartoons or kids' movies until Jesse dropped off, her head leaning against her godfather’s side, her feet digging into Amanda’s legs.

One of them - usually Sonny - would scoop Jesse up eventually and tuck her into bed with a kiss goodnight. The TV volume would get turned down a little lower, the cartoons switched over, and they’d watch something - anything - that they didn’t have to care about.

It was comfortable, that time with Sonny - the groove they’d gotten into over the past couple of years. Jesse had spent her whole life having weekly dinners with Uncle Sonny, and Amanda had found a friend she would never have predicted when he walked into the squad room three years ago. They laughed together - a lot - and he never judged her about the big stuff (the small stuff, sure, how many times had he bemoaned her lack of decent cookware?); she didn’t feel like she had to stand on ceremony with him; he didn’t complain about the dishes in the sink, the laundry hanging up about the place - and he told her things about himself, normal, everyday things, and she found herself opening up to him too. Not about everything, but she shared things about her past, about her family, that she had always held back from other people.

Tonight, they were tired, and if her head dropped onto his shoulder while they were talking, it didn’t mean anything more than that. He’d put a documentary on and she wasn’t even too sure what it was about - so she closed her eyes for just a second, or at least she had meant for it to be just a second.

When she woke up her head was still on his shoulder, and her arm was across his chest; he was leaning into her too, one of his hands resting just above her hip, and she was so comfortable, she felt so safe, that she just closed her eyes again, sinking back into sleep without thinking about it too much.

When they woke again hours later, still intertwined, they shared a brief, slightly awkward smile as they pulled apart. Amanda wasn’t about it admit it, but she felt better rested than she had in a long time.

Sonny wasn’t at his desk when Amanda got to work, and he was usually there before her unless they made plans to meet for coffee or breakfast beforehand. She hadn’t seen him the night before, didn’t know what his plans had been, but for some reason his absence bothered her. She sat down at her desk and kept an eye on the door waiting for him to come in - an hour passed and there was still no sign of him, so she sent him a text - just a quick “you ok?” - she glanced at her phone periodically but the message status never changed to Read. The morning was quiet - both Liv and Fin were meeting with Stone for trial prep first thing, and Amanda was working her way through a backlog of reports in between checking her phone.

Two hours after she got to work, around two hours and ten minutes after Sonny would usually have put in an appearance, Liv walked in and approached Amanda’s desk. “Carisi’s out sick today,” she said, “Can you meet Fin at Mercy? We’ve just had a call.”

Amanda frowned. “Sick? Carisi? He’s like fifty percent hand sanitiser.”

“Yeah, I think it’s the flu, he didn't sound great on the phone.”

For the rest of the day Amanda’s mind was on Sonny; she’d sent a couple more texts but he hadn’t even read them, and it was so rare for him to get sick - she wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she was worried. When she got out of work she text her nanny to say she needed to make a stop on her way home, and she drove over to Sonny’s apartment with cold medicine and Gatorade.

When Amanda knocked on Sonny’s apartment door there was no answer; she called his phone but she could hear it ringing unanswered inside the apartment, which only served to increase her worry. Eventually she pulled out her keys, scrambling to find the key he'd given her for emergencies; she knocked twice more before opening the door, calling out his name as she entered the apartment.

She didn’t visit his apartment often; could count the number of times she’d been here on one hand, in fact - she wasn’t exactly comfortable in this space like he was in hers, and she felt like an intruder as she walked down the hallway, still calling out to him. When she reached his living room she saw him. He was lying on the couch, his feet hanging off the end in a way that would be comical if he didn’t look so utterly wrecked; his eyes were glazed over, his breathing unsteady, and it took him a second to notice her.

“Rollins?” he said when he spotted her - his voice coming out croaky and weak. “Why are you…”

“I was worried,” she told him, crossing the room and putting the back of her hand to his forehead - he was burning up. “You weren’t answering my messages.”

“M’fine,” he mumbled, “Just restin’.”

“I don’t think you are fine, Dominick,” she brushed his hair back from his forehead and he let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

“S’nice,” he said, leaning into her touch.

“Where’s your thermometer?” she asked, “I know you’ve got one.”

“Somewhere,” he says unhelpfully. She moved away and he sighed, lifting a hand to reach out to her, “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Amanda still felt like she was intruding as she went into the bathroom, opening his medicine cabinet and making a point of not looking too closely at the contents - she found a thermometer easily enough and headed back out to the living room. She’d been gone barely two minutes, but he smiled like it had been a decade since he last saw her.

His temperature was 103, and she told him so. He frowned. “No, m’cold,” he said, disbelief in his tone.

“I’m sure,” Amanda said soothingly. It took several attempts to coax him into sitting up, and to find out that he hadn’t taken any medication yet, and another five minutes to persuade him to swallow the cold medicine.

She sat beside him on the couch, slotting in to the space he left when he sat up, taking a sip from the bottle of Gatorade she’d handed him. He dropped back against her a moment later, leaning into her, barely able to support his own weight. She swept her hand through his hair again as his head lolled on her shoulder.

“You should go,” he murmured into her neck.

“I’m staying until the medicine kicks in,” Amanda told him him, her fingers still in his hair.

“But the girls-”

“They’re fine,”she assured him, “they’re with the sitter.”

“I’ll get you sick,” he said; he sounded so miserable there was no way she’d leave him alone right now.

“So then you can return the favour,” she countered, and he gave in, letting his eyes drop closed, one arm coming to rest across her stomach as he drifted off to sleep.

It was a choice to curl up next to him on New Year’s Eve - there was still a lot that had been left unsaid between them, and this was one of those things - that closeness; just a little too intimate to be platonic, but skirting the edges of admitting anything further. She had a blanket draped over herself, and he had one arm on the back of the couch; she fit perfectly into the crook of his arm, her hands pillowed between her head and his chest. The TV was on, but they weren’t paying too much attention to it; she was content resting against him as she listened to the stories of his Christmas celebrations with his family; he already knew how her Christmas was, had heard it all in great detail from Jesse when he had face-timed them the day after Christmas; the noise and clamour of the Carisi family in the background, but his attention solely on the Rollins girls.

They were comfortable together, her and Sonny. They had been for a while. It wasn’t something Amanda had ever had before - not like this, and they were on the precipice, resting between friendship and something more, but she embraced moments like this, where they could be in their own bubble - whatever happened between them in the future, she wanted to keep having moments like this. That had been what she was thinking about when she’d drifted off, midnight still hours away.

If the Amber alert hadn’t woken her, things might have ended a little differently, but there was no awkwardness when she did wake up burrowed into him. She moved only enough to reach her phone, reading the alert, sitting up only when she knew she’d have to go into work - to leave the warm comfort they’d found here and go out into the real world.

He looked as disappointed as she felt - and she wanted to drop back down against him, ignore the darkness of the world they lived in - but that wasn’t an option, and she knew there would be other nights like this, other nights they would fall asleep together, still not quite giving in to whatever kept compelling them back to this spot, this thin line they were living on.

Now, when they’re cuddled up together on the couch, Amanda never needs to pretend it’s anything different - it’s not because they’re tired, and it isn’t because one of them is sick, and she doesn’t have to analyse every movement of his body against hers - this is just who they are now, this is just what they do.

It’s movie night again - but not just the two of them - Amanda’s calling it ‘family night’, after weeks of late shifts and early starts, no one getting to spend much time with their children or the people they loved - Fin had declined the invitation, told them he’d had a better offer - but Liv and Kat are here. Jesse, Noah and Billie are on the floor in front of the TV; Sonny had set them up with cushions and snacks and with the amount of sugar they’ve already consumed Amanda’s sure they’re going to crash halfway through the movie.

Amanda glances over at Liv and Kat as she slips into the space Sonny has made for her on the couch, his arm coming around her as soon as she’s settled. Liv smiles in their direction, but says nothing. Kat raises an eyebrow - but it’s playful; she’s happy for them too, Amanda knows.

She can rest her head on Sonny’s chest these days, smile to herself as he presses a kiss into her hair; she can wind her arms across him freely. She’s always felt safe like this - been able to fall asleep knowing he’s right there with her - but now she can admit things she’s held back - now she can admit that she doesn’t just feel safe in his arms; it feels like coming home - whether it’s on a couch surrounded by their makeshift family, or it’s in their bed in the early hours of the morning, or his arm around her shoulder while the girls play on the swings - it’s somewhere she always wants to be.

#rollins week #rollisi #rollisi fic #my fic #this is just sentiment and feelings #sorry not sorry

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blarrghe · 4 years

Note

"I called you at 2am because I need you" for... is it too indulgent to ask for Dorian x Anders?

never too much! Decided on a straight sequel to the last one, so here’s modern au resident!Anders and politician!Dorian after a long shift. --

He had three hours left in his shift when he got the text from Barb. He looked suspiciously down at his phone when it buzzed. Barb’s contact was in his phone with a little butterfly next to her name, to match the tattoo on her ankle and the bright and fluttery nature of her personality. He liked Barb, but she was almost definitely asking him to cover her shift, and he debated opening the message for several minutes before doing so with a reluctant sigh. Barb was going through some things; messy divorce, two little kids to look after all on her own, the pay they made here and the stress that came with it.

“Can’t find a sitter, can you take a shift?” read the first text, Anders was going to say yes anyway, but then two more came in, buzzing in quick succession. “unless you want to babysit? I’d give you my pay!” bright, chipper texting tone, accompanied by several hopeful looking emojis, “and brownies! 🍫” Barb did make really excellent brownies. He considered taking her up on the second offer, but he really wasn’t sure he had the energy for kids who weren’t bed-ridden or in need of medical care. He could turn on Fun Doctor Mode like a lightswitch for the kids down in pediatrics, but kids who wanted to refuse bedtime and stay up watching TV they weren’t mature enough to handle? He shook his head, half smiling over the offer of brownies, half frowning over the decision he’d made before he even opened the first message. Barb deserved to get the time with her kids, anyway.

“I’ve got you covered.” Kissy face cat emoji, knife and fork emoji.

“Lifesaver!!!!!” every single colour of heart.

He pencilled his name in on the clipboard for the next rotation, and began to regret the fact that he’d so quickly stuffed down the pastry Dorian had brought him earlier as he tried to remember if he had enough coins in the pockets of his coat for both a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and the bus home. He didn’t, but he’d have more luck charming the bus driver into a free ride than the vending machine into giving up its snacks, so he went to his locker and fished out the last of his bus money.

The rest of his shift went by in a blur of activity, up and down halls as his white-soled shoes squeaked and squawked along the linoleum floors, up and down stairs that were faster than waiting for elevators, thankless pages from doctors all across the sprawling hospital, avoiding his shift supervisor in case she asked about Barb. Then Barb’s shift was much the same, for the four and a half hours after that. It was nearing two am when he finally staggered out to the bus stop, and well past it by the time he arrived home — on foot, because the bus driver had not, in fact, let him ride for free. Just what he got for putting hope into the kindness of strangers. One kind act was, apparently, the extent of his daily karma allotment. Fair enough — he could still almost taste the honey of that pastry on his lips; either an uncommonly good morsel, or he was just drastically underfed. The latter, but the pastry-giver was certainly more than he deserved.

Shit. Dorian. He’d asked him to call. Anders looked blearily at the clock on his stove as he kicked off his shoes and plodded over to the cabinet to dish out some kibble for Ser Pounce. The cold tile floor was a welcome relief on his worn out feet, though the fact that he could feel it at all was a testament to the grave state of his socks. Ser Pounce pounced down from his perch above the cabinets to give some love and a swath of shedding cat hair to Anders’ legs, then nibbled at his food while Anders opened his fridge to try to figure something out for himself. He sniffed at the milk, decided it was probably still fine, and then poured it over a heaping bowl of sugary cereal. Yeah, he’d have made a pretty shit babysitter.

Anders took his bowl with him to his bed, flopping down on the lumpy mattress with a sigh that fully emptied his lungs, and pulled out his phone. He opened his message history and pulled up the conversation with Dorian. Not much there, but what there was made him smile. Mostly short, friendly messages. No emojis except for the one he’d stuck next to Dorian’s name in the contact page — a snake, not his first choice, but he’d embarassed himself by asking the man which one he’d like when he first scored his number, and snake was what he’d picked. Anders would have gone with the diamond, or the little tophat, or maybe the cat with hearts for eyes…

Anyway, then it had turned out that Dorian was a very formal texter. Proper punctuation and fully articulated words and all that. Anders had spent far too many minutes in their text-based conversations together fretting over how immature it would come off to use an abbreviation for laughter versus spelling out the words “haha”, or if even that was too juvenile. But he and Dorian were both all sarcastic humour and chastising bits of flirtation, and he also fretted about the tone of that without it.

“you up?” he wrote, then hovered his thumb over the send button for thirty or so seconds before deciding that it was worth the shot. Worse came to worst, Dorian would reply with a friendly apology and an offer to chat the next morning. He was dependable like that.

“Depends, is this a booty call?” came the almost instant reply. Alone in his room, Anders blushed.

Blushing emoji, monkey covering his eyes emoji, sweat-smile emoji… delete, delete, delete. “No, just miss you,” DELETE, definitely delete. He tried typing some other things. “Just got in, but thinking of you…” no. “You wish lol” haha? Neither. He erased the message and began again, but then the phone screen lit up with “Dorian🐍”, buzzing as it rang.

“The little dots were driving me mad. Did you just get in?” His voice was like honey, too.

“Yeah, covered for Barb.”

“Again?”

Anders leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Dorian’s concern blanketed over him. “She couldn’t find a sitter.”

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Dorian scolded him gently through the phone, and it probably said something unhealthy about Anders that hearing Dorian admiringly call him nice made the whole last five hours of life-draining overtime and bitter walk home worth it.

“She offered me brownies,” he shrugged the compliment off, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for chocolate.”

“I’ll remember that.” Dorian purred, causing Anders to almost second guess his response to the idea of a booty call, exhausted or not. “So, not a booty call then?” Anders groaned inwardly, wishing it were, but no. Not unless Dorian wanted to talk to him on the phone the whole way over to keep him from falling asleep before he arrived, and even then.

“I just — uh…” he was going to say something about the book, but he hadn’t actually had time yet to look at it. His heart rate quickened with panic, he needed to find something to keep Dorian on the phone. “Thanks for the visit today.” Yes, because that warranted a phone call at three in the morning. “Sorry if I woke you…”

“Nonsense. I’m always awake at this hour. It’s a terrible habit of mine.” Dorian did indeed sound very wakeful. Probably also very disappointed in the grogginess of Anders’ own voice.

“Mm,” Anders muttered, his eyes closing under the warmth of Dorian’s voice through the phone again.

“But you sound awful.”

“Ran out of bus fare,” Anders explained, “had to walk… long day.” On a better night, Dorian might listen to his work gossip and share some rants of his own; they made quite a pair, both always seeming too short on time and too packed with stress to get out much, both always angry with their bosses — though Dorian was frustrated by beaurocracy constantly getting in the way of his efforts at world-saving, while Anders’ patients gave him fulfilment enough, it was just that his pockets were perpetually empty and all his managers were slave drivers.

“Why don’t you have a bus pass?” Dorian sighed at him. A bus pass was a hundred bucks up front at the beginning of the month, and with payday always landing two weeks after but every other bill needing to paid right then too… but he didn’t really want to explain that particular predicament to Dorian, who had a flashy suit for every day of the week and a car that cost about as much as Anders was worth in medical school debt. “Well, you can call me next time. I’d give you a ride.” he purred on that note too, having fun with his double entendres. Anders chuckled.

“I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised. Though the thought of begging his quasi-boyfriend for a ride at two am made him shudder. Still, not quite a lie; he always seemed to have Dorian on his mind at the end of a long shift.

“Since I have you, dinner?” The inflection of the question was a little high. Anders crunched on a mouthful of cereal with his eyes still closed and mumbled something unintelligable. “You’re off Friday, aren’t you? Do me a favour and don’t pick up any more shifts. I have a place in mind I think you’ll like.”

“Mm?” He thought about the kind of places Dorian would think were good spots for a dinner date, and was very glad that he couldn’t see the blue-tinted milk running down his chin.

“It’s a surprise.” Back to low purring, that nervousness or whatever it had been apparently gone again. Anders liked the warm flirtatious tone, but the little breaks into uncertainty were what kept him coming back for more. So much in common. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Anders “mm”’d through his mouthful of cereal in the affirmative.

“Amatus?” Even his pet names were classy. Anders would go with “love” if it weren’t so close to an unthinkable state of being, or “babe” if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian outshone that by a mile with amatus. His thoughts were all cat-with-heart-eyes emoji at the sound, and not much else.

Anders swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.”

“Mm.” Anders moved the bowl from his lap to the cluttered chair at his bedside, and leaned deeper into his pillow. “See you Friday, Dor” Dor, was that really the best he could do?

He heard Dorian hum contentedly on the other side of the line, “looking forward to it.” he said.

“Night, love.” Anders muttered, then very very quickly he hit end call, and shut his eyes tight.

#dorian x anders #modern au #my writing #my fic #I just wanted to write with emojis lol #late night phonecalls

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kissjane · 4 years

Text

LONELY NIGHT / Short fic

#48 from this prompt list

I think the lovely 🐝 wanted something like this, and some other anonymous Davenzi shipper… Hope you’ll like it.

I called you at 2am because I need you

Trying to sleep alone is the absolute worst. It is bad enough to not be able to see his boyfriend during the day, but at least during the day, he can distract himself with other things. Right now, in the middle of the night, all David can think about is Matteo.

The past few weeks have been nothing but horrible. First David had spent a few days at his parents’ house, and when he got back, Matteo had been rushing to finish a big project for school. When that finally had been handed in, his mother had suffered a bit of a relapse and Matteo had gone to stay with her. He had gotten back to the flat share last Thursday, and David had been more than ready to finally spend some quality time together, but then Hans had decided a party was in order. As usual, it had lasted until early morning, and there hadn’t even been time for a shower together before they had to rush off to class. On Friday they had been invited to Amira and Mohammed, and by the time they had left there, the cold that had been threatening to break through for a few days had made David cough and sniffle, and he had sent Matteo home alone. He’d stayed mostly in bed all weekend, and then when he had finally felt better, it had been Monday again and the normal hustle that came with it had overtaken them once more.

And now they were back to Thursday, and David had snapped at everybody – at breakfast, he’d yelled at Laura for chewing too loud, and before class, he had told a few unsuspecting classmates off because they were giggling about one of David’s favourite movies. During his lunch break, he had scoffed at Carlos and Kiki sitting too close together, which had greatly confused Carlos because he and Matteo would have been even closer – but Matteo had been spending his lunch breaks in tutoring recently. He’d even thrown some sarcastic remark at Hanna when she had walked to the library with him, and when he had stopped by the flat share in the hope of catching Matteo before David had his therapy appointment, he had snarled at Mia and Vicky.

Matteo had sent David a text during the latter’s appointment, asking if he was okay, why he was so grumpy and curt with everybody recently, and if Matteo had done anything wrong.

And David had been ashamed at his behaviour, when he had read the texts after he left his therapists’ office, but by that time it had been over an hour since Matteo had sent them, and David hadn’t known how to explain that he was just frustrated.

His finger had hovered over his phone to call Matteo, but it had been late, and Matteo had seemed so tired when they had briefly talked over the phone that morning, in between classes. So he had just gone home with lead in his shoes.

And as he lays in his bed, tossing and turning, constantly frustrated by the lack of a warm snoring body, he remembers that tomorrow isn’t looking good either. Matteo has class until late and on top of that, he is supposed to get together with some classmates for a group assignment in the evening. It doesn’t look like they will have much time together, and Saturday they already agreed to go help out Jonas with a surprise he was preparing for Hanna’s birthday.

David sighs. He wonders why the whole world is conspiring against him. Is it that bad to want an hour alone, undisturbed, with his boyfriend? Hell, he’d settle for thirty minutes at this point.

He didn’t even know it was possible to miss somebody this much. And it feels like he is overreacting, too – it isn’t like he hasn’t seen Matteo at all, they’d hung out plenty. But it’s just – they haven’t been alone. And while Carlos is right, they are always touching somehow when they are together, it isn’t enough. David needs to be closer to Matteo, to feel the warmth of Matteo’s skin, to breathe the same air, to rest his head on Matteo’s chest and hear his steady heartbeat in his ear. And he also needs Matteo inside him, and Matteo’s tongue all over, and to taste Matteo, and to watch how Matteo closes his eyes and tenses his whole body when he comes. It isn’t wrong to want to have sex with your boyfriend, is it?

Long story short, David is horny, and frustrated, and he doesn’t care about being needy. It is unbearable. He grumbles out loud, trying to get comfortable, hugging Matteo’s pillow as some sort of ersatz Matteo.

Nothing helps. The blankets are too heavy, but without them, he is cold, and the bed is too big without Matteo. He grabs his phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding him, thinking he can watch something on YouTube until he falls asleep. But automatically, he goes to Instagram, checking out Matteo’s pictures, or his own with Matteo in them. And then he opens up their chat history, reading the silly messages of love they exchange all the time. His thumb almost caresses the screen, as if it is Matteo’s face. And then suddenly he notices that Matteo has been active recently.

Before he completely realizes what he is doing, he has pressed call. Matteo answers almost immediately.

“David? What are you doing awake? It’s almost 2 a.m.”

Just hearing Matteo’s voice makes all the stress and grumpiness disappear, and David laughs.

“I could ask the same,” he retorts, his voice teasing.

He can almost hear Matteo smile, and he curls up between the sheets, thinking about how Matteo is probably doing the same right now.

“Is everything okay?”, Matteo asks softly, after a few moments of companionable silence, and David’s cheeks flame up in shame again.

“Yeah…”

Matteo presses on.

“You can tell me, if I did something wrong… I mean, you seemed so grumpy earlier, and Mia said you came by and she thought you were angry… But I can’t figure out what I did, so just tell me, please…”

“Oh, Teo…” David sits straight up against the wall. “You did absolutely nothing wrong!”

“Are you sure? But you are upset about something, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s just because I’m so frustrated that we haven’t had any time together between the two of us. I miss you, that’s all.”

Matteo is silent, and David wonders if anything is wrong.

“Matteo?”

“Yeah,” the reply comes quickly, “I’m still here. I just… You really are so angry and snappy because you miss me? That’s all?”

God, David didn’t think it was possible to fall even more in love with Matteo, but he just did. He might just have melted at the softness in his boyfriends’ voice. But the fact that Matteo doesn’t get how much David needs him must be rectified, immediately.

“That’s all? It’s just about everything! You are everything. So when I can’t have you, of course I’m gonna get snappy. I need my Matteo fix. I needed my Matteo fix two weeks ago, in fact. A day without alone time with you is… not a good day, no matter what else is going on.”

Matteo laughs softly.

“Really? I didn’t know. I thought I was the clingy one…”

“Hey!”, David retorts. “I’m not clingy. I just know a good thing when I see it, and I don’t plan on letting go. You’re stuck with me.”

“Just the way I want it.”

They both laugh, and then the line goes silent for a few minutes, only the sound of their breaths coming through.

“I miss you too, you know…”, Matteo then speaks, softly, a bit hesitatingly. “If you want –”

He cuts himself off, and David knows Matteo doesn’t want to assume, doesn’t want to pressure, doesn’t want to offend – so he just takes the proverbial bull at the horns.

“Can I come over?”

He hears the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line, and then Matteo’s beautiful laugh.

“Hurry up.”

David is already out of his bed, pulling on some pants and a hoodie over his sleeping shirt, not bothering to find socks.

“Be there in ten.”

“Good,” Matteo says. David can hear the excitement in his voice. “Use your key.”

David smirks.

“Why?”, he asks, as he tiptoes through the flat, opening the front door, rushing down the stairs.

“Can’t open the door naked…”

David unlocks his bike in record speed and starts pedalling as fast as he can.

“Be there in five,” he pants, hearing Matteo’s delighted laugh right before he ends the call. The image of a naked Matteo waiting for him is incentive enough.

He makes it in four.

#I write things #davenzi #🐝#all the davenzi shipping anons #50 cliché prompts

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crazybagelbitch · 4 years

Note

AU where Maddie has always lived in LA with Doug but the 118 have only met her a handful of times because she doesn’t see her brother much. So Chimney is surprised when she turns up bruised and bleeding at his apartment at 2am one night because the most conversation they’ve ever had is when she kept dropping in to check on him the year before when she was in work and he was recovering from rebar. But Doug doesn’t know where he lives and can he help her please? 🥺

Chimney is cursing under his breath as he blearily makes his way toward the door. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway but he was finally on the cusp of it after a night spent tossing and turning, and then someone was pounding on the door, pulling him from the peaceful rest that he was about to have.

(Well, hopefully peacefully rest.)

He’s prepared to snap at whoever it is when he practically throws the door open, assuming it’s a drunk neighbor who’s accidentally locked themselves out considering it’s 2am on a Friday night turned Saturday morning.

“Maddie?”

It takes him a moment to find her name, because he’s half asleep and it’s dark and he’s only met her a handful of times. But then he sees the bruises on her face and the jaggedness of her nose and he’s pulling her inside of his apartment, realizing how dumb of a move that is when she flinches, and he quickly puts his hands up.

Sighing, she bites her trembling lower lip and motions for him to shut the door, something he had completely forgotten to do as he’s looked her over, looking for injuries beyond her face. Given the way she’s hunched over a bit, he’s guessing her ribs are bruised, if not actually cracked.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and that’s his second stupid move of the night, because clearly she isn’t. He’s about to open his mouth to apologize when she shakes her head, waving her hand to let him know she hasn’t taken offense. He’s sure she knows this an unusual situation, too.

“Doug doesn’t know where you live... c-could you help me, please? I-I’m so sorry, I know we hardly know each other b-but... can’t go the closest hospital because I w-work there and if I drive further... if I’m g-gone too long...”

She trails off with a whimper, tears sliding down onto her already bruising cheeks and he hates that she’s even considering that he might send her away. She’s Buck’s sister, and she’s also her own human being who is hurt and in need of help and he just so happens to be a paramedic.

“No, no, of course I’ll help,” he assures her, “let me go get-- I have a bunch of first aid stuff at home, I’ll go get it. Is there anything else that you need? Water or--”

“Resetting my nose and helping wrap up my ribs is m-more than enough,” she whispers with a dark laugh, and it makes him feel sick because there’s a clear insinuation that this is not the first time her husband has hurt her.

Which isn’t surprising, given that he’s a paramedic and unfortunately had far too much exposure to domestic violence and is all too well aware of how it works, but it still puts a deep seated sadness and disgust in his stomach.

He could throw up, he thinks. He probably will after she’s gone.

He doesn’t know what to say to her. He knows there is no magic fix, nothing he could say or do that would make her husband change or just magically disappear, but he feels like she should say something.

But he’s coming up with nothing.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally says bluntly, once he’s back with his very thorough home first aid kit.

“There’s nothing you really can,” she shrugs, a small smile on her face that winces with the movement.

“I know this probably means nothing but... if there’s anything I can ever do to help? Beyond... this? I’m here. You’re Buck’s sister, you’re family and.... I’m sorry, I’m probably messing this up, I just know that I can’t fix it but if I can ever help somehow, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, and he gets the feeling that she will hesitate, but he of course understands it’s far more complicated than just accepting help and leaving. Far more complicated and far more dangerous.

“H-How did you get to LA?” she asks shakily after a tense silence, and he gets the feeling that she just wants to talk about something, anything other than her current horrid situation.

And he supposes that other than treating her injuries, it’s really the least that he could do for her.

“So, it’s kind of a funny story actually...”

#tw abuse #tw domestic abuse #ugh i feel like this sucks im sorry

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mcrmadness · 3 years

Note

14, 15, 33 (like generally in people, not dating-wise), 40, 47 :D

Ask game: Unusual asks.

Thanks! 8D

14: What is your least favorite word?

In which language? :D Also this is probably the hardest question in this ask game because I literally don't know XD But I try to think about something.

OH NOW I KNOW! I hope people don't get mad at me but RIGHT NOW my least favorite word is "gender envy". I just have this thing when I'm exposed to something against my will - could be a word, a celebrity's face (or name) or even just a tv series - and too often in very short time, and suddenly I just get an overload of that and I feel so fed up with it and can no longer tolerate it AT ALL and everything about said thing just gets on my nerves and makes me so angry that if it's e.g. a tv series someone's watching, I simply have to leave the room because I can't stand anything about it at all anymore, not even the musics nor actors' voices.

So lately this happened to me with this word. It just came out of nowhere and I see so many using it now and I can't escape because it's not only on Tumblr, it's also on Discord and on every freaking website I go to, and I feel like I'm going crazy but I just can't NOT SEE that word because there's no way to avoid it. Even if I filtered the tag on Tumblr, I'd still have to see the word because Tumblr would tell me "this post was filtered for the tag #gender envy". And it kinda sucks.

(I'm agender/nonbinary so I don't feel gender envy because there's no one born without a physical gender and I usually don't look at snails or so and be like "I wish I had its gender" - besides they are hermaphrodite and not genderless so...)

***

15: What is your favorite word?

This is also something I haven't really thought about. Okay my brain just said I should say: Gotham. Because it's one of my favorite tv series, after Gotham City which is Batman's home city, and if you put that word in half you get: Got-Ham.

That's why my siblings (they're 26 btw) started talking about the show with the Finnish word for ham: kinkku. So my sister would ask my brother "Should we watch 'Kinkku'?" when she wanted to continue watching Gotham :DDDDDDDD

***

This got bit long so the next ones under the cut...

33: What turns you off?

The lack of sense of humour. I seriously don't think I'd ever be able to get along with someone who either has no sense of humour at all or has it completely different from mine.

Also people who don't respect others, people who refuse to listen to others. Nothing makes me angrier and more frustrated than when I'm trying to say something and people say "I don't care." and won't let me even finish because they don't want to hear what I have to say only because they THINK they're gonna disagree. And even if they do disagree, it'd still be nice of them to let people finish before proclaiming that they disagree. Not doing that makes a person just an asshole.

And another thing is the music taste, having it different won't make a friendship impossible, but it always drops my mood a bit to learn I again listen to different bands and genres altogether than someone new I learnt to know, because it seems to be something that just always keeps happening...

***

40: First concert you attended

It was in 2007 and My Chemical Romance's concert in Finland. It was also their first gig in Finland ever. The concert took place in Helsinki, I was 16 and met a few internet friends I had but mainly spent time with my parents who I went to the concert with. The gig itself was insane, I had never been to an actual concert before because I was so afraid of big crowds because of my social anxiety and I always thought I don't care about going to concerts. But something in me needed to experience an MCR concert and I'm glad that I did that, because I really like going to concerts now. Every time I feel like dying tho, but somehow I still end up buying concert tickets anyway XD

The concert itsel was insane and I didn't even feel the anxiety there at all! After the concert we were hanging out near the venue and my parents already wanted to leave but I just had this feeling that we should not leave yet, and then they said we have to go now so I started walking after them and crying, and that's when I heard girls screaming behind the venue and as we went there, Frank was actually there writing signatures, and we quickly ran there and I don't remember anything else but this small group and we just handed him the ticket, he wrote his name and we left :D

Here's a photo, I still find it hard to believe that I got Frank's signature but this ticket is a proof of that so I guess I just have to trust it XD

After all that we then visited this "Rock McDonald's" in Helsinki, it's just some regular McDonald's with rock themed furniture and music and that night they were playing only MCR, and from there we went back to the hotel.

***

47: What’s your favorite holiday?

I think I answered this question in another ask a couple of weeks ago but I don't remember what I said :D Probably talked about Christmas but now I started wondering it this means like... those HOLIDAYS like Christmas, or just any kind of free days from school and work. Because I've been having one long weekend for the past 2 years, and before that holidays didn't really exist for me because horses need to be fed and taken care of no matter what the calendar says :D

Anyway I think I'm gonna say: Midsummer. In Finland it's a big thing. Well, for most it just means drinking and partying outside, but not for me because I hate people and don't drink alcohol lmao. No but, I actually was born on Midsummer Eve, the Eve is never the exact same date every year (it's always a Friday, tho) so when I have my birthday, it's not necessarily that year's Midsummer Eve. Apparently also not this year, so usually I'm having my birthday during Midsummer but I haven't celebrated it since I turned 18, so it's not really a big deal for me. I'd rather forget about it because I have had an age crisis since I was 23... anyhow, this year I'm gonna turn 30 so I know it's gonna be a bit bigger thing for my family and relatives but I'd rather not be reminded of that because for the past 10 years I have just been worrying about how 30 is closer every year because when I hit that age, then 40 will be closer than ever, too ::D

A "fun" fact about Midsummer and what it means in Finland: Every year everyone wishes for bad and good weather simultaneously because people want to spend the day in good weather but good weather means people like to go swimming. And alcohol + swimming is NEVER a good combination and the warmer the day, the more people will drown. Every Midsummer Day or the first work day after Midsummer weekend, you will find reports from all newspapers about how many people drowned this time. The nicer the weather, the bigger the number(s)... It's terrible, and people are adviced to look after their friends and family and never leave anyone alone near the water when alcohol is involved. Even I have sometimes kept an eye on someone because they were drunk and went close to the lake (not necessarily during Midsummer, but whenever I've been spending time with my mom and her siblings and friends at a summer cottage).

I don't want to end this so dramatically so I also want to say that I like Midsummer because in Finland, the sun never really sets during summer. And during Midsummer the nights are usually the brightest and soon after that it starts getting darker and darker again. It always makes me sad because the summer is so short here, but I really love these summer nights when there's like 3 hours between the sunset and sunrise but the sky doesn't even have time to turn dark during that time. Finnish summer is something special and magical.

It's probably impossible to imagine and incredibly difficult to show in photos too, but here's my attempt:

This one was taken in (the beginning of) June 2017, at 2:00 in the morning during this photo. I think it's very close to the actual lighting of that night. It's so easy to get too dark or bright photos with a proper camera and I can never remember afterwards which of the brightnesses was the correct one. (Btw we [aka me because I'm the only one of my family with a driver's license] were driving back home from Helsinki, we were to Helsinki because of a Rammstein concert :D)

I also have some photos taken at 9pm what looks more like it was in the middle of the day, and also a photo I took at 3am and it looks like it's a daytime too. It's slightly darker between 11pm and 2am and then it gets bright again. But I'm too lazy to add them to this because they just look like daytime photos and you only have my word about the actual time, so it still doesn't feel the same as actually being outside at 3am while it's bright as day :D

#lebignom #ask games

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